


My Haunting Pasts

by DemonicCharm



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Pirate England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicCharm/pseuds/DemonicCharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one, the pasts forms of England begin to appear. The child... The knight... Each new form tears itself away from Arthur, leaving him weakened. But what will happen when the last one tears away? Will his friends be able to save him in time before that happens? And, will they be able to save themselves from the dangerous pasts in the process? [Non-Pairing]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland longed for the days like this. It wasn't as though he was lazy but, rather, he would push himself too much and become swarmed in his paperwork and duties. He had found himself sleeping at his desk for the last three days and developed back pains because of it (it was fortunate his friends were always around to help tidy everything up). It also didn't help that he had been feeling sick since he woke up that morning (he failed to eat well when working). But now, it was all over with! Arthur was free to spend his free time doing what he loved.

His feet were propped up on the footstool by the fire. The warmth of the flames tickled against his bare toes causing him to wiggle them around in the bliss. He sighed with pleasure and sank down lower in his armchair. A freshly made hot cup of tea was resting on the coffee table, almost pleading for the English nation to drink it. Arthur happily brought the tea to his lips and took a satisfying sip. The warm liquid trickled down his throat and made him shiver.

The cup went back to the table and Arthur then looked back at the three inch wide novel he was reading. It was a murder mystery novel that he had read before. He loved to reread them though because he would always pick up on clues he had overlooked before. This was a particular favourite for it had taken him almost till the end to solve the crime before the main character (the use of snake as the weapon was a genius one).

"At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes."

He was content on spending the rest of the evening like this. He had purposely pulled the phone-wire out to avoid receiving any of those annoying recorded messages and all entrances had been locked shut in case any unwanted nations were to creep inside. Was it too much to ask for to be left alone? He enjoyed his solitude. It was peaceful and he hardly ever got annoyed unless he was sinking into his phase of 'nobody wants to be my friend'.

A tingling sensation ran through his fingers. He pulled his hand away from the frail pages and wiggled them about. That was strange. How often could someone get pins and needles in their fingers? He shivered as the sensation ran down his spine. Someone must be dancing over his grave tonight, so to say!

Arthur lowered the book down upon the table beside his drink (folding the corner of his page for he hated damaging the spines) and knelt down beside the fireplace. He carefully threw on another log to keep the fire going. Maybe he should eat something to warm him up? What would go well with the mood?

Crumpets! Oh yes, a plate of hot crumpets oozing with butter would be ideal. The English nation licked his lips with anticipation. Ignoring the slight daze that washed over him when he stood, Arthur quickly made his way over to the room that most guests dreaded seeing him inside.

He turned on the grill and placed a couple of crumpets underneath. He whistled as he worked; a merry tune that often played during the rugby matches. After two minutes, Arthur turned the crumpets over.

The merry whistling ceased when another dizzy spell overwhelmed him. Arthur rested back against the counter and placed his hand to his forehead. He knew he had been skipping a couple of meals whilst he was working but as a nation it shouldn't affect him like this. He closed his eyes and his eyebrows furrowed together as he waited for it to pass.

It lingered. Arthur turned towards the sink as his vision began to blur. Using his sense of touch, he tried to get a glass of water for himself. What the hell was going on…? Was something happening to his land or people? Impossible. If that was the case then he would have received an urgent call on his mobile that only a few select people had.

The glass slipped from his fingers but, thankfully, landed in the bowl with a loud clink. Arthur shook his head in attempt to remove the dizziness. Gradually, his vision returned to normal and the light-headedness passed.

Arthur splashed the water over his face and rubbed his eyes. He was beginning to feel quite cold now despite the contained heat inside the house. The frustration of not knowing what was happening to him was beginning to sink in. He growled under his breath and looked over at the grill. His precious crumpets had been reduced to charcoal. He didn't often burn his food (despite what others said) so he must have been out of it for a while.

He took the butter out of the fridge and began to spread it over the ruined crumpets. There was little point in wasting food. He only managed to finish buttering one before another dizzy spell swept over him.

The knife clattered onto the floor and he staggered back. His hand shot out for the edge of the counter but he couldn't hold his weight. His strength faded out and he dropped to the floor with a bang. His head made contact with the tiled floor and darkness quickly followed after.

It was warm outside: warmer than he remembered. It would have usually snowed by now. He was pleased it hadn't though for the snow made it only too easy to track others. The frost coated blades of grass crushed beneath his bare feet as he scampered off into the night.

What had happened?

Lights were flashing through the darkness. He could loud voices. Was there a dog barking too? There were alarms too.

He stirred and rolled himself onto his side. His head felt numb with pain and his eyes stung with the intense bright lights when he dared to open his eyes. The last time he had blacked out like that was when London Underground -

Arthur went pale. Was it another terrorist attack? He didn't feel any of the hot pain that came with bombings or fire but...

He quickly pushed himself into sitting position. His hand reached into his pocket and, ignoring the sickening feeling in his stomach, brought out his phone and flipped it open. There were no missed calls or any texts. That didn't remove the feeling of dread. He dialled a number and held the mobile to his ear. His fingers rubbed against his temples as he waited for an answer.

The call didn't take long. Parliament had nothing new to report to him. He was quick to make up an excuse and the man on the other side laughed and joked that he should have more time off if he gets this panicked over nothing. Arthur had faked a laugh before hanging up. Nothing had happened at all. Nothing. Not to his country or to his people. It left Arthur in a state of confusion. It was not every day that a nation would suddenly become sick like this without a cause. They couldn't get ill in the same manner mortals did.

His attention was seized by lights dancing around outside. He blinked and looked up over to the window. There were lights flashing outside and the dog was still barking like mad. He had failed to register what might have been happening in the mist of his panic. Arthur narrowed his eyes and cracked his knuckles into the palm of his hand. A crook must be wandering around. Perfect. Arthur could do with a good old-fashioned arse-kicking.

Arthur stood back up and gazed out of the window. A couple of shadows were moving around next time with torches and their dog was barking up a tree. The alarm had been turned off. He went over to his backdoor and unlocked it. He couldn't spot anyone moving around.

"What's happening here?" Arthur asked as he walked over to the fence that divided his and the neighbour's garden.

The dog turned its head towards him and growled. Arthur took no notice of the mutt's strange behaviour. He and the dog didn't get on well ever since Arthur caught him rampaging through a fairy's nest and upsetting his magical friends. The neighbours had no idea which was a relief but the dog shouldn't have been in his garden in the first place.

"Someone tried to break in," the male explained to him as he moved the torch across the leaves of the tree. "We heard someone move around in our kitchen. Buster here heard them. They went running up this tree."

Arthur looked up at the tree and followed the torch's light. He doubted a fully grown man would have been about to make himself hidden so well in those branches. The evergreens weren't the most comfortable to hide in. Then, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a rustling that the neighbours failed to see. The dog was growling again.

Curious, Arthur climbed over the fence and then leapt for a low branch. It was easy for the nation to get his balance. He wouldn't usually do such actions or risk his neck like this (the trespasser could easily have a gun) but he wasn't in the right frame of mind to let someone terrorise the area.

"Time to give up!" Arthur called as he swung onto the next branch. He knew where the git was hiding now for he could just make out the cloth between the leaves. The person clearly did not want to be caught. The next second, Arthur was clutching his forehead as a small roughly made arrow hit his head.

The arrow barely left a scratch but it was enough to set off his temper. He reached forward and took a tight hold of the person's leg. He tugged them forward and, to his surprise, the person yelped in a high pitch voice. He pulled them out of the leaves and -

Both screamed loudly in alarm as they stared at each other.

Those forest green eyes filled with fear, that grumpy expression on that grubby little face, that tatty green robe and cloak he use to wear, and those eyebrows... Arthur found himself staring into his younger counterpart!

"Who is it, Arthur?" His neighbour called out from below.

"..." Arthur placed his hand on the child's arm as the kid raised his bow. He then placed his finger to his lips and picked up the child. It was easy to climb down with the child in his arms for he had plenty of experience from when Alfred would go exploring (and get stuck numerous times) in the woods.

He smiled apologetically when he landed back on the ground. The dog was growling near his heels and the child was wiggling and screaming in Arthur's arms. Arthur had a tough time trying to keep hold of the rascal. "Sorry about that... I didn't realise he had left his bed. His mother dropped him off in the evening and... I guess I'm not use to looking after children." It was a terrible excuse and he knew this would lower his reputation with his neighbours but how else could he explain a child that looked just like him?

The neighbours blinked and stared at him in surprised. The torch's light moved over to the child who growled and waved his hand like a paw at them.

"He... er... has your eyebr - Ow!" The male was cut off when his wife nudged him in the side. "Eyes... he has your eyes."

"I am truly sorry... and so he is." Arthur looked down sternly at the child. "You won't do it again, right?"

Little Arthur stuck out his tongue and glared darkly at him. Christ, he was a handful. Had he always been like that? Arthur apologised again and quickly moved to the over side of the fence and back into the warmth of his own house. He placed the child down on the floor and the child instantly took off and vanished from sight.

No one was going to believe this. He wasn't even sure he did. Was this a bad dream? Or was someone playing cruel games with him?


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur sighed. He had forgotten how stressful it was to look after children. The numerous amount of former colonies he helped raised could not prepare him for the most mischievous one of all (not even Australia could compare and he had been a rascal!). Arthur had discovered the child managed to sneak out of the house by the flap on the backdoor. He had it there for his fairy friends, and flying mint bunny, who would sneak inside to escape the cold weather outside. And when he was moving the washing machine in front of it to seal the exit, the child had escaped him again and was now hiding inside the cupboard under the stairs.

Every time Arthur tried to open the door he got an arrow to his face, and the child's aim was very good. He almost lost an eye the last time he tried. How the hell did the Bishops ever keep him in check? Arthur sighed again and sat down upon the chair facing it. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his fingers impatiently.

"I'll count to three and if you're not out by then I shall come in and smack you," he said sternly. "One... Two... Don't make me say it!"

Silence. The child made no effort to open the door and Arthur was not foolish enough to attempt to enter again. He rubbed his temples and then gazed up at the ceiling as he leant his head back. He would need to use a different tactic. Would bribery work? He could try to get his fairy friends to enter the room and speak to him but they would be currently sleeping. Would the brownie still be around? He didn't sleep during winter time. Trouble was Arthur didn't know where he was.

How did he use to get Alfred out of hiding when the child kicked up a tantrum? That was an easy answer. Food. What child didn't love food? He got to his feet and went over to the kitchen. But what would his younger self want to have? The stone cold burnt crumpets were still there. He tossed them into the bin. They would not do! It had to be something that the child would feel more familiar with.

He did like eating his fruit back then. Arthur picked up an apple from the bowl and chopped it into smaller slices and removed the seeds from the centre. He laid them out neatly on a plate and went back over to the cupboard and knocked upon the door. "When you're finished in there, I have a plate of apple slices waiting for you."

An angry hiss emitted from inside. Arthur frowned but didn't give in just yet. "They're juicy! I can remove the skin too if you want me to."

Another angry hiss followed.

Arthur bit his tongue to control his temper as his patience wore thin. He placed the plate down on the table. "Fine, starve then," he said harshly as he fell back onto the sofa. "Gordon Bennett," he muttered as he rubbed his temples again. "Stubborn bloody brat..." It was strange to think that he would struggle so much with his younger self. Despite knowing plenty about the child, there was no way of controlling him. It wouldn't be long until the child would try to sneak outside again and be on the loose. Though there weren't any invaders out there, there was still many new strange things that could be harmful to the child.

He needed someone to watch over the child. Someone who knew what a tricky brat he was. Someone who wouldn't drop his guard around the child and let him slip away. And, more importantly, it had to be someone that the child could trust for, reason unknown to him, the child did not seem to trust his older self.

Arthur looked over at the door. The child appeared to be moving around now. He was certain that there was nothing inside that would harm him... He called out, "Would you like for me to call an old friend over? Would that make you leave my cupboard?"

There was silence again. Then a small voice called back, "Yes!"

"Who?"

Awkward silence. Arthur could almost hear the child fidgeting around. Who would the child be thinking - Ah.

Arthur sunk down into the sofa and placed his hand over his eyes. Bloody hell, it would usually take a lot of convincing before he decided he was in a lot of trouble to call himfor help. But it would work out, wouldn't it? The child would be with someone he knew and Arthur was then free to go down to his basement and seek out answers for what had happened.

He glanced over at the clock. It was almost 5 o'clock in the morning so it would be 6 o'clock in his time. That was early enough. The bastard wouldn't kill him for calling now and the sooner he called the sooner the git could get here.

Oh, the things he did for children... He picked up the phone and reluctantly and dialled the number. When he held the phone to his ear, he half hoped that the other would not answer. Sadly, there was no such luck for him today. After only two rings, a sleepy voice answered with a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"Angleterre?"

"Hello, old chap," Arthur replied in a false cheerful tone, "I have a bit of a favour to ask of you."

"Zut alors, can it not wait for morning?"

Understandable, he was irritable at being woken up. Francis never took kindly to those who woke him up before his desired time (as he and Alfred found out one terrifying day). The Frenchman needed his 'beauty' sleep but at least he wasn't turning him down. That was a good start.

"Listen, France, I ... I don't think it can wait. It's urgent. I cannot trust anyone else with this." If only there was someone else. There goes the last of his dignity. He was seeking help from him.

"Oh?"There was a note of curiousity in his voice but it was only brief for it quickly switched over to that annoying gleeful tone. "Angleterre needs help from moi? This is unexpected. Is it a girl? Or that despicable creation you call food?"

His fingers flexed on the phone as he resisted the urge to hang up on the bastard. "Let's just say you are... the least likely to be a threat or harmed." Arthur spoke through gritted teeth, "I can't explain it over the phone for you won't believe me. You will have to see for yourself."

"Oui, oui, it will take moi a while to get there."

"Just get here as soon as you can. I'm not sure how much longer I can last."

He hanged up before Francis could question what it was about and glanced over at the cupboard. The plate of apple slices had been taken whilst he was on the phone so the child had eaten something. One slice was sitting outside the cupboard. The child must have dropped it as he rushed back inside. Arthur had the unshakable feeling that the child did not want to be in his presence any longer than he had to.

There was no chance of him sleeping until Francis got here so he went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. It was going to be a very long morning. And he'll need plenty of caffeine to get through it all.

It was close to eleven when his doorbell was rung. Arthur placed down his third cup of tea and went to answer the door. For one of the very few times in his life, he was relieved to see it was Francis standing there (the postman and the milkman had been shocked at the overenthusiastic response they got). He stepped aside as the Frenchman walked inside without waiting to be let in and looked back at Arthur with an expression of mix annoyance and curiousity. "So what is the reason that I was rudely pulled away from my sleep?"

"Good morning to you too," Arthur said sarcastically as he walked over to the cupboard and knocked on the door. "I brought a friend over for you. He has travelled a long way so is a touch grumpy."

The child replied with the typical angry hiss of a frightened animal.

Francis raised his eyebrows. "You brought me here for a trapped chat?"

Arthur ignored him as he knelt down in front of the door. "You'll know him. He's gotten a lot older and uglier -" Francis quickly went off into a rant about how his looks were far superior to most and how age was merely a number " - but he's still the same bastard we know."

Slowly, the door was pushed open and the forest green eyes peered out; alive with interest. His cheeks were stained slightly with tears and dirt and his hair was covered in the dust from the cupboard. A daddy-long-leg was dangling from the child's arm. He kept the door as a shield between him and Arthur as he turned to look up at Francis.

Francis stopped halfway through a sentence and blinked down at the little face peering up at him. Suddenly, Arthur found himself pushed aside and a high pitch scream echoed out as the child was pulled tightly into Francis' arms.

The child growled angrily and tried to wiggle out of the Frenchman's hold but found himself pressed against Francis' chest as the older one become giddy. "Mon Angleterre! I had forgotten how adorable you were!" Francis cried in delight as he cuddled the child and showered the top of his head with kisses. "Vous êtes si mignon!"

The child glared at Francis and continued to push his way to freedom but the older nation was much stronger than he was. So he settled on swearing and cursing the Frenchman for all he was worth, "WANKER! CHEESE-SMELLY JERK!", and hitting his chest with his tiny hands. It was only when the child bit down on Francis' arm with his sharp little teeth did Francis release him with a yelp. The child quickly dashed over behind the sofa to safety and stuck out his tongue at the two of them.

"How very un-cute." Francis pouted as he rubbed his arm.

Arthur smirked. Though he was a pain when a child, he certainly had some of the fighting spirit in him. "Care to do some babysitting?" he asked in a casual tone.

Francis pulled up his sleeve to see if any blood had been split before examining the material for any holes. Thankfully, he was spared from having to change his clothing. He looked over at the older Arthur and frowned. "Pourquoi? What have you been doing? How did he come here?"

"I did nothing," Arthur said with a frown of his own. "It happened last night. I was resting after doing paperwork for Parliament when I suddenly became ill and fainted. The next thing I knew, he was running around outside."

"Mon dieu! He might have gotten hurt!" Francis looked back over at the child who was still glaring at the two of them. His 'big brother' side was beginning to shine through now and he was always rather fond of children (even if it was his old rival).

"He's fine. I have to do some research into what could have brought him here. In the mean time, I need someone to keep an eye on him. I rather not let my people know of what happened or they would be greatly concerned. I've been scanning the news on the radio for the past two hours. Nothing had changed over the land so it would be wise to not give them something to worry about."

"D'accord; I'll keep him out of harm." Francis knew only too well what the child was like. In his view, Arthur had barely changed since then though that comment may only cause an argument to occur between them. He would always be the same arrogant, moody, little brat even if he no longer followed after him in that cute way he did.

"Thank you."

That was a huge burden of his shoulders. While Francis went through all the trouble of trying to keep the child under control, Arthur could go down to the basement and look through his books to find the needed answers. "The neighbours may already be suspicious so if you could remain in the house or garden..."

Francis nodded. He had already blocked Arthur out and went down over to the child. Arthur watched them for a second but the child did not appear to show any signs of suddenly running off again.

"Good luck," Arthur muttered whilst walking off to his basement. "You'll need it."


	3. Chapter 3

Francis knelt down beside the child who remained still and watchful over him. He didn't look scared but, then again, when had England ever allowed himself to appear frightened (especially of him)? For a child who had travelled almost a thousand years into the future, he was very relaxed around everything and wasn't even wary of the strange new items that surrounded him.

It was highly suspicious. He opened his mouth to speak; to ask where he had came from, why he had came here, and how was he able to, but the child cut across before he could speak.

"You're old," Little Arthur pointed out as he looked from Francis' taller build then to the stubble on his chin, "Really old." It was a different Francis from what he knew; an ugly awful Frenchman that wore dresses and constantly bragged and teased him at every chance he had. His little fingers tightened over the bow he had refused to drop since arriving.

"I see your manners have not changed," Francis said with annoyance lining his words. "C'etait malpoli! I assure you I am as beautiful as ever if not more." Definitely the same Arthur he once knew: even that little scowl was exactly the same. Merde, had England grown up at all? "Don't pull that face, if the wind changes it'll stay that way!" he lectured.

"Too late for you." Little Arthur continued to scowl at him.

So un-cute. Francis frowned at the boy. "Respect your Big Brother!"

"No."

"..."

"..."

The child did not stop his glaring. Francis found himself wishing that he had not bothered answering the phone. He stood up and shrugged of the rudeness as though it didn't hurt him as much as it had. "Très bien," he said, purposely speaking French to annoy the child, as he walked off into the kitchen. Considering that the child had been hiding in the cupboard for some time, he would be hungry. "Petit-dèjeuner?" Francis hated skipping meals.

It made him smirk to know that even Little Arthur knew French, especially if he was right in guessing that this child had came from the 11th Century. Sadly, he made the mistake on turning his back on the child and instantly felt a sharp pain in the back of his head when an arrow hit him. He tugged the arrow out and turned on the child with a new wave of anger over him. No onetouched his hair!

Little Arthur knew he had done wrong for he quickly shot off between Francis' legs, squeezed past the washing machine, and through the dog door before Francis could register what happened. The anger melted away to panic. Francis gave chase after him and fled outside. It was freezing out here now and wrapped his arms around himself as he looked out for any sign of the scallywag.

"Angleterre!" he called out, "Don't scare Big Brother like this! Come back inside and we'll have breakfast! I'll make a fruit salad!"

There was no answer. He expected as much. Ah, Arthur would kill him if anything happened to his younger counterpart. Think, Francis thought to himself, where would the rascal run off too? What were his favourite places to hide? Forest. The child spent a lot of his time hiding in the forests from people. He had made himself an outcast since the moment he arrived on the Earth.

Francis ran over to the fence at the bottom of the garden. There was a field just behind it and further on there was a cluster of trees. The child would not have been fast enough to get there or been able to climb over the fence unless there was a hole he would burrow through (just like a lapin). That meant he was still in the garden somewhere.

As if to confirm his thought, a giggle issued from a nearby bush. Francis sighed in relief and went over to explore. He pulled away the leaves and looked down at the child.

Little Arthur was curled up under the leaves with his hand outstretched and a happy smile upon his face. He was nodding slightly as though he was acknowledging what someone was saying. He then looked up to gaze at Francis with a far more relaxed expression than those typical scowls and glares. He held out his other hand.

"... Oui?" Francis asked, unsure what the child was asking.

"Tinkerbell wants some hair," Little Arthur said seriously.

"Excusez-moi?!"

"She wants your hair for her nests."

Francis absent-mindedly placed his hand upon his hair. No. Francis highly prized his hair and no one was allowed to mess with it. He'll quickly cut down anyone that dared do anything to it (as Prussia found out the hard way when he dared to add food colouring to his shampoo after a nations' meeting). "Tinkerbell?" What a peculiar name. "Where is this friend of yours?"

Little Arthur stared at Francis and then looked back down at his hand that the beautiful fairy was standing upon. Her long pinkish hair was tied back into a ponytail and her light yellow outfit could blend in perfectly with the sunflowers that came in spring. But to Francis, all he could see was an empty hand.

"..." Francis sighed softly. He mentally told himself off for what he was about to say (what kind of Big Brother would he be to crush the imagination of the young?) and then smiled lightly. Their squabble was long forgotten. "And she is almost as beautiful as beautiful as moi! But my hair is very precious." He flipped the blonde locks over his shoulder to prove his point, "But I'll bring over my hairbrush next time for her, oui?"

Little Arthur pouted but he didn't say anything else on the matter. Francis' hair was spared for now. The child shambled to his feet and moved out of the bush. Now there was dirt and leaves tangled in his hair. Francis made note to give the child a bath later (when he was sure that the child wouldn't go berserk and attack him again).

The child ran off across the large garden as fast as his little legs would let him go. Francis slowly followed, giving the child some distance from him in case. Little Arthur was now laughing as he ran. He dashed into the flowerbeds than Arthur tended to (Francis refuse to admit that he have a soft spot for those roses the bloomed through summer) and knelt down in the dry dirt.

Francis slowly approached and knelt down beside the thorny rose bushes. What a cute little smile Arthur had. Why wouldn't the grown up England wear one like that? He might look cuter with it than those angry expressions he wore. But wait - what was that?

The Frenchman blinked and leant in closer. There, sitting just in front of the child, was a tiny decorative house (he could tell England had made it by the painting on the walls). But that wasn't what caused him to stare in alarm. Standing just in the front door was a tiny gnome. Not a statue one, mind you, a living breathing gnome who was speaking in a high-pitched voice to the child.

Francis rubbed his eyes and looked again. "J'hallucine!" he whispered in fright. He sat there too stunned to move. Little Arthur was even shaking the gnome's hand when the two then acknowledged in presence. The gnome squeaked and suddenly vanished into thin air along with his house.

"..." Francis was then aware that his mouth had been hanging open and quickly closed it. Then he exploded into a rant, "WHAT WAS THAT?!" he said in a panicked voice.

Little Arthur smirked faintly as the Frenchman went on. It was amusing to see Francis tug on his hair and he ranted on and on about what he had just seen. But the child's patience soon wore thin with the idiot and he got up to find something else to do. He was just about to plan out an escape that would get him away from here when a hand suddenly seized his arm.

"Bath," Francis said as firmly as he could.

"No!"

"Oui!"

Despite the struggles and yells, Francis picked up Little Arthur and carried him back into the house. He removed the bowl from the sink, cleaned it, and placed in the plug before running the hot water. "If you have a bath like a good little boy then you can have whatever you like for lunch," Francis offered as he placed the child onto the counter and tugged off the thick material robe and cloak.

The thought of having lunch was enough to keep Little Arthur quiet. The child looked down the water. Usually, the child would have gone down to a river and wash himself whilst speaking to the spirits there. Francis picked him up and placed down into the water after adding a little cold water to cool down the temperature. Little Arthur squeaked but did not fight back.

Francis collected soap from the bathroom and then scrubbed Little Arthur squeaky clean. It made the child feel embarrassed but his stomach was now rumbling with hunger.

"You have such a fragile little body..." Francis whispered to himself when he noticed the amount of bruises and scratches on the child's body. "You should take better care of yourself."

"I do," Little Arthur said crossly. He amused himself by creating ripples in the water. The water moved from side to side, occasionally going over the counter and making a mess. "I wash. I hunt."

"Not here you don't." Francis frowned slightly at the water that was splashed over his shirt. Ah, he didn't bring any spare clothing. He would have to borrow clean dry ones from Arthur and that oaf didn't know fashion even if it bit him in the postyrieur. "I'm here to take care of you now, just how a Big Brother should."

Little Arthur looked up at with his big forest green eyes. His little face was scrunched up, trying to tell if Francis was teasing him or not. But when Francis smiled gently at him, the child slowly nodded and looked back at the water that was now a dark brown.

"Zut alors, we should rinse you down now." Francis pulled the plug and then turned on the tap to rinse the child down. When he was spotless, Little Arthur raised his arms in the air in a silent demand on being picked up. Almost flattered by this, Francis picked up the child and took a clean tea towel from the cupboard and wrapped it around him.

Francis held up the tattered outfit and threw it into the bin. "I'll have to see if Angleterre has any left over from the colonies." There was no chance he was letting the child wear that thing again. It was distasteful and worn out. "You remain sitting here," he said firmly as he placed Little Arthur down on the settee and turned on the t.v..

The sight of seeing the fairies on the t.v. made the child nod. His feet stuck out in front of him and he remained wrapped up in the towel. Certain that he wouldn't run away, Francis went upstairs. He knew he should have asked by why would he? Arthur couldn't possibly hide any of his past away since Francis was aware of it all.

The attic ladder was pulled down and Francis went up. He turned on the light and gazed around at the mess. Honestly, did Arthur live up here? Everything was so neatly organised that Francis had the feeling if he moved anything, Arthur would be able to tell. He walked along to the wardrobes and drawers. He pulled on the top and saw little outfits folded inside. He pulled one up in front of him. He recognised that. A certain bespectacled young nation had worn it.

It was the only thing that would fit the three year old downstairs so Francis took a risk and placed it over his arm before closing the drawer. Arthur could not scold him for looking out for the younger England downstairs.

With that in mind, he hurried back downstairs to dress the child. Little Arthur was still gazing at the t.v. in wonder and reaching out his hands to grab hold of the characters that appeared. It was such an adorable sight that Francis had a hard time trying to restrain himself from hugging him again.

"This will do for now," Francis said as he sat down beside him. "I'll take Angleterre's wallet later and we can do some shopping!"

Little Arthur looked up at the laced short and trousers with distaste. "No!"

"I'll buy you a better outfit later!" Francis tried to bargain with him again, "Along with treats, oui?"

"Where did you get that?" A harsh voice said behind them.

The Frenchman flinched and dressed the child as quickly as he could. While Little Arthur looked down at the lace with a little frown, Francis turned back to Arthur. "Did you find anything?" he asked, completely ignoring the question already asked to him.

"No." Arthur said shortly as he went over to the kitchen and took out a couple of painkillers. He swallowed them down without the use of water and then turned on the kettle. "This isn't something that just happens and no amateur will be able to pull it off without serious consequences." No one had been near his magical storage and the only ones who were capable of pulling such a spell off would not have been so pig stupid to do so.

"Consequences?" Francis walked into the kitchen and watched Arthur made a cup of tea. "... What kind of consequences?" he dared to ask. He didn't wish for anything bad to happen to his little Angleterre. Older England, possibly, but to the child... curse his big brother side!

"Physical or mental disturbances," Arthur said in a matter-of-fact tone as he made his cup of tea. "Abnormal behaviour or sickness. It can be anything from mild to deadly."

The French nation pursed his lips before speaking again, "You, umm, him, petit Angleterre is ..."

"What is it exactly?" Arthur said impatiently. He looked over at France with the cup of tea in his hand. It was possible that along the time skip ahead, the child may have hurt himself. Though Arthur didn't feel different, except for the slight headache, the child couldn't be in such a dangerous state. The connection between him and the child must have been frayed because he felt ... different. He couldn't quite place his finger upon it.

"He - you - he is seeing things." Francis struggled with the concepts of having two sides of England here before him, "I knew you were cracked but he is currently running about in the garden and chasing after fairies!" He thought it was best that he left out the bit where he saw the gnome. It was probably a hallucination from all the sudden stress and lack of sleep he had to deal with.

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow at the Frenchman before glancing out of the doorway behind Francis. Indeed, his younger self was now chatting and laughing away but he could no one around. None of the fairies were there and not even his closest friend flying mint bunny was there. That was not normal, even for him. But it wasn't creating a huge effect on him so he brushed it aside. He had a bigger issue at hand to deal with.

"... Just keep him safe." He said flatly as he left the room to return to the basement.


	4. Chapter 4

There was something beyond his understanding happening here. He could not place the bits together. There was no magic strong enough to bring the past to the future for it as risky as going to the past itself. What if someone wanted his past form to arrive here in the present time in hopes of weakening him? Did they believe if they hurt the child they could then hurt him? Was this a terrorist attack like none other before? Or was he looking into this too deep and missing the bigger picture?

All those questions spun his mind making him feel sicker than before. His stomach was also churning around and he was surprised he hadn't spilt the contents of his stomach all over the floor. It felt like he was suffering a bug or something similar. But he was strong-willed and one of the most stubborn bastards around. He pushed all that at the back of his mind and turned on the light that he usually forbids in his basement room.

The large space reserved for spell casting was currently filled with all the books that would have been tucked away neatly onto the shelves. Not knowing where to start, Arthur decided the best course of action would be to look through them all. He had only managed half a dozen so far and that was by skimming through the pages. In case he missed anything important, he would have to reread them after looking through the rest of them. It was frustrating when centuries upon centuries of experience could not prepare him for what was happening now. The past should be left in the past, regardless of how he felt towards many certain years.

He picked up the closest book and flicked through. He tried to look out for any of the key words; past, memories, time travel, and so on. He hesitated and his finger paused halfway down the page. Should he make a call to someone with a greater understanding of magic than him? There was only one person that filled that position but their differences had caused a huge strain on their relationship. While his older brother practised in the art of nature and maintaining the ways of their mother, Arthur went into the darker magical arts. His brother had not been able to forgive him and never spoke of magic whilst together.

With a heavy thud on the stone floor, the book was abandoned. It mentioned nothing of history and time travel. It spoke more of herbs and their uses. He knew most it by heart. He picked up a darker looking book (a snake was curled along the black spine and there was something remotely like blood stained on the cover) and opened it. His eyes scanned across the contents then rested on a statement: A charm to contain your inner demons. He found the page and read through carefully. Through the nonsense he could pick up that it was to lock away the troubles of the past.

It was difficult to say if it would work or not for wording was a tricky business when it came to magic, especially the darker kind. It wasn't a spell he had used before so he had no idea to what the side-effects would be. However, it was the best thing he had found somewhere. The spell was fairly basic too. It had to be completely during full moon when the magic power flowing through the land would be at its strongest. Arthur looked up at the lunar calendar he had pinned to the wall. Full moon was due tomorrow.

No one else from the past would appear, would they? There were many highlights of his past that he would not wish to remember nor relive. Yes, the past was indeed best left in the past. What fool would even risk altering the very fabric of time itself to do this? But if he could cancel out that possibility before it happened then it would be one less thing to worry about. He would be free to return his attention to getting the child back home before any serious damage was done.

Arthur marked the page and carefully placed the book aside before taking up the next one. He spent the next hour looking through the books and another couple of hours rereading them in case. Several occasions his heart leapt for joy when he spotted a couple of words or phrases but his hopes were crushed when it failed to give any further information. He would have to write down the situation and result in his Book of Shadows for later reference since the books he held were not revealing anything useful.

He picked up one book he found useful and placed it onto his desk before returning the others onto the shelves where they belonged. Arthur stretched out his tired limbs and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost six and he still had not eaten. Strange. His magical friends would usually have appeared by now and tell him to have a break and eat. Were they distracted with the younger Arthur? He placed his hand onto his stomach. His stomach had settled when reading but with the distractions gone it was quick to return as strong as ever.

He almost doubled over with pain. His fingers were tingling just like before. He held his breath and closed his eyes tightly to fight against it. Any spell that granted protection was repeated over and over again in his mind. It took a few minutes but the pain subsided and he opened his eyes again. Tears had formed from the pain. He blinked them away and shivered.

Another cup of tea and a good meal would stop it all. But should he go upside? He didn't want to risk someone else appearing with Francis and Little Arthur around. Then again, it may be good thing. Francis should hopefully, though he wasn't that hopeful, be able to restrain whichever Arthur came out next long enough for Arthur to then wake up and help.

Bearing that in mind, Arthur headed back to the floor above. By the time he arrived in the hallway, he could smell a sweet fragrance drifting through from the kitchen. It made his stomach grumble despite his earlier thoughts of not being hungry. He followed the aroma to the source and discovered Francis cooking in his kitchen. He held back a comment and went over to the kettle to boil in.

"Where is my younger counterpart?" he asked casually.

Francis chuckled and motioned over to the table. Little Arthur was sitting there, his face covered in chocolate, with a large mixing bowl in his hands. He was dipping his hand into the remaining mixture and licking the chocolate off. The ends of his sleeves were coated in the mixture. He would need a second bath for sure.

"Should he be eating that?" The child would not have known the taste of chocolate and he wouldn't want him to get a stomach ache. Plus... too much sugar to the system would have the child in hyperactive mode. He's been with enough colonies to know that would be a bad idea to let happen. "It would upset his stomach."

"It was difficult to resist when he sneaked into your cupboards and stole a bar," Francis sighed as he stirred the sauce around in a saucepan. He was a big softie with children. "He already had his dinner. We tried to make mousse for dessert..." He glanced over at the child briefly who was now wearing the bowl over his head in attempt to reach the last of the mixture. "Your dessert has been eaten." He smirked back at Arthur. "I knew you liked my cooking ~"

"Shut up." Arthur glared sharply at him. He finished making his cup of tea and raised it to his lips to inhale the warm scent. That would soothe his head long enough. He closed his eyes. It was numbing the pain. "I may have to bring Scotland into this..." He didn't add why because he refused to admit out loud that he was inferior to another (especially his brother). "I can cast a spell tomorrow that will prevent any past forms from appearing. When, and if, Scotland gets here, we'll decide how to take the little tyke home."

Francis didn't reply which was probably a good thing. The Frenchman would only scoff at the idea of magic and they'll get into an argument over it. He pressed a plate into Arthur's side. "Le dîner est prêt."

"Thank you." Arthur placed the cup down to take the plate from Francis. It was nothing too fancy and he was in no state to deny a meal. He leant against the counter and took a quick couple of bites. Mmm...It was simple enough to satisfy his tastes but held flavours that his cooking would struggle to meet. Damn that bloody frog.

"Angleterre," Francis spoke fondly, "it's getting late for the young one."

Arthur looked over at the table. Indeed, his younger self was yawning (with the bowl still on his head). England smiled softly. "I'll get him to bed. He can share mine. There are a couple of spare bedrooms for you to choose from." Since it was clear the child was going nowhere, he hoped that Francis would remain for the night so he could tend to the child in the morning. Luckily, Francis did not protest.

He walked over to the table and placed down the half eaten meal. He reached out to pick up the child but, acknowledging his presence, Little Arthur yelled out and began to slap his hands away before Arthur could touch him. An anger little glare was barely visible through the bowl and chocolate but his screams said it all, "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"

Slightly hurt, Arthur stopped. He was very good with children and the fact he was not getting on with his younger self was rather painful to know. Was he doing something wrong? Was it because he had told him off before? No. Arthur didn't care for being scolded and would often end up doing things his own way. But when it came to pushing the rules onto others, he was very strict.

Francis chuckled and placed his plate down on the counter before moving over to Arthur's side. "Mon lapin, it is time for you to go to sleep. Come," he held out his arms with a soft smile, "let's get you cleaned up again."

To Arthur's shock and horror, the child glared up at Francis then nodded and reached out for the older nation. Francis took the child into his arms, removed the bowl, and then kissed him on top of his head. "Say good night."

"Night..." the child yawned and placed his arms over Francis' neck before snuggled against his shoulder, resulting in the chocolate being smudged onto Francis clothing. He closed his eyes and was soon off in a light snooze.

Arthur said nothing as he watched his long time foe carry his younger self towards the hallway and up the stairs. Since when was he ever so attached to Francis? Yes, they had their moments when they were children; especially when the Normans invaded his land and took over but he never fully depended on him before. Or had he? He was barely more than a three year old... and every child needed someone to look after them. Sadly, his mother was long gone by that time.

He pushed it out of his mind and sat down at the table to finish off his dinner. Francis would throw a hissy-fit if he wasted any of the food. He ate it all and then placed the plate into the sink and began the washing up. Just as he was thinking it was one of the better meals he had a long time (crackers and cheese could only get you so far), the stomach ache returned. He doubled over and his knees dropped to the tiled floor. The water that trailed down his arms suddenly felt cold against his hot skin.

The hot flush was steadily getting worst. His arms moved over his stomach and he gazed at the door with his vision blurring over again. "Fra... France...!" He called out as long as he could but it barely passed for a whisper. The searing pain crossed his head. Exactly like before, the darkness swept over him and his body fell limp on the floor of the kitchen.

-/-

Francis dropped the flannel into the sink. That was better. The child was all clean now and had barely even stirred when Francis washed the chocolate and dirt off his face. Little Arthur was even beginning to drool now in his sleep as his head rested against Francis' chest. Francis laughed quietly so not to wake the child. He had forgotten that Angleterre did that when young, and he still looked cute when sleeping.

He carried the child to one of the spare bedrooms. Against Arthur's wishes, Francis decided that it would be best if the child remained with him. Little Arthur would have ran off if he found himself sleeping next to his older self in the morning, and Francis did not want to waste a whole morning chasing after him in blind panic.

The child stirred when he was lowered down onto the bed. Francis tucked in the quilt around him and brushed his hand across Little Arthur's soft hair. He smiled softly. Ah, he was growing too attached to the little rascal but what did he care? It had been a long while since someone depended on him like this and he intended to make it last as long as he could.

He helped himself to Arthur's clothes and changed into a pair of pyjamas. They were the same height but Arthur had a slender body compared to Francis' more masculine one so the clothes were slightly too tight around the upper arms. He would remember to tease England on that later. With a quick trip to the bathroom to reassure himself that no serious injuries had been done upon his person, Francis then tiptoed downstairs.

Francis paused by the bottom of the staircase. Something felt off. He couldn't hear any signs of movements or the t.v.. Arthur would usually be watching a movie by now and then he would return to bed to read (it was terrible that he could recall Arthur's daily schedule by heart). Now he thought about it, Arthur didn't look well when he was eating earlier. He was rather pale and his hand had been shaking slightly.

He cautiously opened the door to the living room and peered through a crack. The t.v. was off and he couldn't make out anyone on the sofa. But wait... what was sound from the kitchen? It sounded almost metallic. He opened the door further. Was Arthur causing such hell in the kitchen that the saucepans were trying to flee? It would not surprise him.

The door opened out and he stepped into the living room. He went over to the kitchen door and barely had time to look through the crack when it was thrown open and he found himself face to face with a sword. He swallowed and then flashed a smile at the knight in front of him. Merde, he should have hanged up on Arthur.


	5. Chapter 5

"You should not creep."

The Knight was only a few inches shorter than the current England and held some of the baby fat that was still to be lost through age. If Francis had to guess then he would estimate his age, if the child was three, to be able twelve or thirteen. Judging by his helmet, the Knight must not have been around before the 14th and 15th century: his blood would have been decorated across the floor if so. No, this England was possibly from the Crusades era.

It took him a couple of seconds to realise that the Knight was observing him too. Francis kept his hands held up in the air in surrender. They had an 'off on' relationship during this stage. Their countries both fought beside and against each other (to be fair, his people still held a lot of power in England at the time). Hopefully, this England came from a time when they were working with each other.

Slowly, but surely, the Knight lowered down the blade and placed it back into its sheath. Francis relaxed. "Merci..."

"Do not mistaken my act as one of mercy," the Knight said calmly, "I assure you that if you were armed for a fair match, I would have cut you down for firewood in a heartbeat."

This had been the time when England first fancied himself a 'gentleman'. The code of chivalry and conducts of behaviour were strict and Arthur obeyed them like he did the Bible back then. Unfortunately, he was still cold and blood-thirsty at times. That meant Francis would have to watch himself carefully. If he were to pick up something that the Knight was wary off, the Knight would see that as a challenge and attack.

Maybe he should have a knife kept within his grasp at all times. Francis lowered his hands and frowned slightly. "I take it that you not aware of any treaties from your time that would stop you from harming moi?"

"Do not wound my honour, frog," the Knight said coolly, "I am perfectly aware of past and current alliances we have. I will not harm your land or your people, but you are the great exception from that rule."

"Then you risk getting yourself in complete solitude," Francis snapped back. Old habits were hard to kill. The Knight clenched his hand around the handle of the sword though and it quickly stopped Francis from adding any more fuel to the argument. "Wait..." Francis looked at the Knight in surprise. "You know of current alliances?"

"The Entente Cordiale could possibly be the one you are referring to. Yes, I am aware of its existence and the terms laid down." The Knight's hand relaxed around the handle but he still did not relax in Francis' presence. "I question your purpose for repeating my statement as a question."

"If you were to - pardon?! You are... aware of it?" Francis repeated in confusion. How was that possible? This Knight was from many centuries in the past. He would not have known about something that happened in the early 20th Century. Did he arrive here with knowledge of the future? The child was in the same situation for he showed complete awareness of his surroundings.

He stared hard at the Knight who looked alarm at the sudden change of Francis' body language. Before his hand could go back to the handle, Francis spoke up, "Were you brought here for a purpose? Did someone tell you to come here?"

"My knowledge is limited on the matter. With God as my witness, I assure you that I do not know who or what brought me here."

That sounded convincing enough for Francis to believe him. "Are you... from the past?" he asked slowly as he tried to think it over in his mind. He sounded like a lunatic.

"Yes, and no." The Knight turned to the side and looked down at Arthur who was still spread out on the floor unconscious. At least Arthur was breathing but still appeared pale and weakened.

Francis stared at the two for a moment before connecting the pieces. "You mean you came from -"

BRIIIIING BRIIIIING!

Francis covered up his ears as he heard the phone echo across the house. Cursing in his native language, Francis stormed over to the phone. Honestly, why did Arthur have it so loud? Was his hearing going in his old age? It would end up waking the child! That child was a light sleeper! Who would even be calling at this time?

One the fifth ring, he picked it up and held it against his ear, "allô?"

"Yo, France! What are you doing at Britain's?"

He had been asking himself that very same question. "A friendly visit, mon ami," Francis replied impatiently. He never held a lot of patience when it came to the loud mouth American. The obnoxious idiot had no idea how stressful his day was and hearing his cheerful voice irritated him. It was not fair! Or was it? He cut across Alfred's speech (he had no idea what he was even talking about since he wasn't listening at all), "I am sure that he would love your company as well."

Please, please, have Alfred arrive to take this event off his hands. Yes, he would remain for the child's sake and Arthur's but if this continued on then he would be dead. So much of the history was filled by the two fighting and if the wrong era came out... It would be safer for him to have another nearby to stop any rash behaviour. Besides, America had only filled in a short period of England's life, and Francis knew that Arthur held a soft spot for Alfred, so was the less likely to be in danger out of all the nations.

"Really?" America sounded surprised. "He didn't sound like it when we last spoke."

Francis laughed but it only sounded hysterical (not in the amusing way), "Non, non, he would love to see you!"

"Well... okay but -"

"Come now!"

"But I just had lunch!"

"Parfait! You can have dinner when you arrive! I shall cook a banquet!"

"But -"

"Au revoir! I shall see you in the morning!"

He hanged up on Alfred before the other could argue back. Yes, it was a cowardly thing to do in hiding behind the boy, but if it kept him alive who was he to argue with the result? It wasn't as though he was completely abandoning Arthur and running off back to his own country. Then again, the temptation there was very strong. He always did prefer the easier going lifestyle.

While he was frantically chatting to Alfred on the phone, the Knight had picked up Arthur (to the best of his abilities for the armour restricted a lot of his movement) and placed the unconscious nation upon the sofa. He placed a blanket over the top of him and then looked over at Francis who smiled weakly. He did not want to be left along with the Knight but Arthur wasn't going to be waking up for a while.

"I should go to bed..." An early night would probably do him some good. He hoped that he wouldn't have any trouble getting to sleep. He would end up sleeping with a knife under his pillow if so. The thought triggered his yawning. He covered his mouth and then stretched out his arms. Yes, sleep sounded good.

The Knight removed his helmet and placed it down on the coffee table. "Return to the comfort of your bed and I shall watch over my counterpart for the night," he said as he sat down on a chair near the sleeping England. "You can trust me alone with myself, can you not?"

"..." He had him there. Francis nodded and headed off to the guest bedroom. It was a good thing he had gotten himself prepared for bed before going downstairs for he was too drained off any energy to do anything other than snuggle up in the quilts. As he got underneath the covers, he noticed the child lying on the other side of the bed.

Little Arthur must have moved around when he hear the phone-call. The little child was curled up under the blanket with his feet resting on the pillow. Francis carefully pulled the quilt down to see he was still sleeping. It would be mean to move him when he looked so comfortable so Francis left him be and curled up on the other side of the bed.

-/-

When he woke in the morning, it took him a while to remember all that had happened. It sounded nothing more like a horrible nightmare. Who would want three versions of Angleterre running around? He hoped that it was nothing more than the unwelcome side-effects that came from a night of heavy drinking. But when he pushed himself up and rested against the bed frame, he did not have a hangover and he was wearing pyjamas (the shirt was left half undone). If wasn't drinking then there was still room left for hallucination. He opened his eyes when he heard a cough. Sitting beside him on the bed was one of those 'hallucinations'.

With the rubbing of his eyes and the yawning, the child must have only woken up recently. He noticed Francis looking at him and stared back without a word. Francis smiled faintly. So another Angleterre wasn't so bad, especially when it was a cute one like this. "Bonjour, mon lapin."

"You're hairy."

Another polite observation made by the child. Francis looked down at his bare chest and chuckled. "Oui," he agreed as he climbed out of bed. He walked over to the ensuite. After a quick freshen up, he went back into the room to see the child still resting on his bed. "Mon lapin, I cannot change with you in here."

The child blinked before scurrying out of the room. Laughing again, Francis sneaked into Arthur's room to find another outfit (he hated wearing the same outfit twice in a row) and got changed. He slept pleasantly last night but woke up a couple of times when Little Arthur kicked him in his sleep and when the child snuggled up against him.

When he arrived downstairs he noticed that Arthur had recovered and was sitting up on the sofa with a bowl of cereal in his hands. The Knight was nowhere to be seen and the child was trying to climb up onto the sofa but was too small to get his leg over.

Francis picked up the child then sat down on the sofa with him on his lap. "Angleterre, we need to talk," he said seriously. The idea had been circling through his dreams ever since he realised what happened last night. The sooner he told him the better.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you for asking. A little light-headed still and quite nauseous but fine. Enough about me, what about you?" Arthur said with a scowl as he ate. He felt worse than he had before and almost had a heart-attack when he saw the Knight sitting near him when he woke.

The Frenchman frowned at the sarcastic comment. He could see how pale and tired Arthur was up close. He certainly was showing signs of sickness now. "This is serious," he said sternly.

"I'll turn the kettle on."

"Angleterre, I shall leave if you do not listen." He threatened. Arthur did indeed fall silent and Francis ignored the child that clung onto his shirt at his words. "You are in danger."

"What makes you say that?" Arthur muttered as he finished off the last of the milk in his cereal bowl. "You are not going to be all philosophical about the past hurting the present, are you?"

That did not help Francis' mood. "Just because you are too naïve to understand Descartes," He snapped. "Mon dieu, I am trying to help! These past versions are tearing you apart!"

Arthur placed the bowl down and rubbed his temples, "I admit that I've been in better condition but the spell will be cast today and there will not be any further visits. I will ask for a brother to come over and help in taking the two back to their own centuries."

He wasn't seeing his point! Francis stood up, keeping his arms over the child so he did not fall, "Angleterre, they are not coming from the past, they are coming directly from you!"


	6. Chapter 6

If Arthur had any colour left in his face, it would have flooded away. Yet he remained rather calm and listened to Francis' reasoning. Francis ranted on about how at ease the child was with the new world around him, how the Knight knew of their alliance, and how Arthur was looking sicker with each arrival. The moron sounded like a madman despite making some sense. Though he knew not of magic, Arthur did and he could understand how it was possible for a person to be divided. Time travel was dangerous and never heard of but 'cloning' and soul splitting was very much possible to those who knew how.

"Angleterre?"

"I'm listening." Arthur got to his feet. He leaned against the sofa as he walked. He knew he should not walk around but he was not going to sit back and rely on everyone else to do his work. He only stopped when he felt Francis reached out and take hold of his wrist. "... what?" He asked, faintly annoyed at being stopped.

"Where do you think you are going?" Francis said firmly as he frowned at Arthur, "you are sick and need to rest!"

"I'm perfectly capable of making myself a cup of tea," Arthur muttered. Though, now he came to think about it, the thought made his stomach clenched. Francis must have noticed the flinch for he pulled Arthur down onto the sofa. Arthur pushed himself back up and glared darkly.

"I will make the tea," Francis said firmly as he placed the child down on the armchair. "You will not move around for the rest of the day."

"Don't be an idiot." Arthur growled. France often believed he could 'cure' someone of their illness but he was sorely mistaken on this account. "I have to perform the spell today. This isn't something that will get better with bed rest!"

He had a point there. Francis ignored it though as he walked into the kitchen. He would not be pushed about by England, especially when sick. He would have to be firm to keep the three under his control. Speaking of which, where had the Knight gone? Had he retired to bed when Arthur woke up? If that was the case, it would be best to leave him be.

However, when he moved over to the sink to refill the kettle, he noticed the Knight kneeling before a makeshift cross. With his hands held in front of him, Francis guessed he was praying. It was odd to see Arthur do that. With time moving on and religion having less influence on their countries, the nations were forced to move along with the times and thought less religiously. He could risk leaving the Knight alone. Out of all of them, he was probably the one who was less likely to cause trouble despite having a sword.

Then again, maybe it would be best to keep him inside. Francis could see the neighbours peering over the fence and looking both alarmed and confused. The Knight would not give up his weapon easily so he would have to remain out of the public eye.

Francis opened the back door and called out to him, "Come inside and have something to eat."

The Knight was halfway through a Latin prayer when he looked over at Francis. He fell silent for a couple of seconds and then stood up with a nod. "Please," he asked in a tired voice. Merde, he must have been up all night watching over Arthur. Francis couldn't imagine why that would be. Did the Knight suspect something would happen?

Francis turned the kettle on and made the Knight some toast. He opened the cupboards and almost shrieked at the sight of marmite. He didn't even dare touch the jar of poison and he took down the jam to spread out on the toast. It was only a small snack but he could do something bigger later when the Knight had some sleep.

"Thank you," the Knight said as he picked up the pieces and almost stuffed them into his mouth with hunger.

One of them had manners at the very most. Francis arrived back into the living room with a cup of tea for Arthur and a strong cup of coffee in the other. He placed the tea down on the table and sat down beside the child on the armchair with his coffee. "If you insist on fixing this in your... 'unique' method," Francis said to Arthur who was still sulking on the sofa, "then take the Knight down with you." That way if another past form was to appear, the Knight would be able to fight him off and call out a warning.

"He won't like what he'll see." Arthur looked down towards the child who was frowning at him from Francis' lap. "Yes?"

The child glared and moved off the chair he was placed on. He walked off to the kitchen where the Knight was. The Knight cut up a few pieces of fruit for him and placed down into a bowl that the child then held in his hands and wandered off outside to visit his old friends. The Knight lingered by the back door to keep an eye on him, but also so he could hear the conversation from the main room.

"What did you do to him?" Francis asked as he looked from the child to Arthur.

Arthur sighed. He wished he knew why didn't the child like him? Was it something about him that the child could sense and not like? Maybe it was the magic inflicted upon him that he did not like. It was dark, and the child would pick up on it and avoid him when possible. It was a shame. He would have many interesting stories and exciting tales to tell him. He would have had the child memorised by the stories he told.

Francis took a couple of sips from his coffee then moved back to the main topic. "When do you plan on doing this..." He couldn't think of the right word for it. He was not a complete disbeliever in the supernatural and mythical side but the idea of having a casual discussion about it was not comfortable, "...thing?"

"The spell can be performed during any part of the day as long as that day falls during the full moon." Arthur took the cup of tea from the table and quickly took a gulp despite how hot it was. He had not been able to enjoy his drink recently and was going to finish at least one without any sickness sweeping over him. "After this cup of tea I will go down to the basement and cast it."

Francis nodded as though he completely understood what Arthur was saying. "I shall go fetch the Knight afterwards and you can begin." He did not want Arthur to be left alone for a second. He and Arthur sat in what was becoming an awkward silence and drank their drinks. When he finished, Francis returned to the kitchen to place the empty cup into the sink. He looked out over the window and noticed the child and the knight sitting out in the garden together. The Knight was taking the chance to teach the child a few fighting tips. Since they were only a few decades apart, they would still be remarkably similar in traits.

"Sir... Arthur...?" Francis asked from the doorway. That was the way the knight would prefer to called, right? It would help him to refer to them without getting mixed up and confused. The two past versions looked up from the different punches they were performing. "You are needed. Angleterre needs you."

The Knight nodded and stood back up. He walked past Francis to seek what his future self wanted though there was little anticipation in his movements. He stood in the doorway and gazed at Arthur.

Again with the dislike, Arthur thought when he sat up, was this going to a recurring thing? He didn't pass any comment on it. It would be best to get this finished as soon as possible. "Follow me," he ordered as he walked over to his basement.

-/-

Arthur did not have a pleasant time with the Knight. Not only did the younger one clench tightly to the cross around his neck but he also muttered parts of the Bible under his breath when he noticed anything that even hinted at the Dark Arts. Arthur rolled his eyes and continued to draw the symbols on the floor with his chalk.

"Thou has marked the demon stench upon us." The Knight kept close to the side of the wall to avoid touching anything that would leave him 'marked' with the darkness. "I wish to leave." He looked nervous so Arthur brushed off the chalk from his hands then motioned for him to leave. He wouldn't need him to linger around. The spell will only take a minute. What could possibly happen in that time? Nothing. The pains that came before a past form lasted a lot longer than that so he would be able to complete it.

The Knight went in heartbeat.

Arthur snorted and glared after him. Marked? He was a nation. What did it matter to him if there was a Devil out there to punish him for his crimes? He would live on until the end of his culture and cease to exist altogether. He was already over a thousand years old. He was one of the oldest nations around at current times. He had seen many rise and fall during his time. He was not going anywhere. He would live on for another thousand years.

He got back to his feet and read the incarnation over in his mind until he knew it by heart. He placed the book down upon the desk and then stood in the centre of the circle. He held his hands out by his side and closed his eyes. Loud and clear, he spoke out the spell. His voice grew darker with each word and a smile played on his lips. He could feel the power surging through his veins.

Eerie green light flowed out of the symbols and curled around his legs. The magic rose along his chest and absorbed through his skin. The spell stopped as Arthur gasped. The light grew brighter till it blinded him. Then, suddenly, it was over. It exploded into darkness and Arthur dropped down to his knees. Already he could feel the improvement. The stomach pains and headaches were gone.

The spell was complete. No more worries for now. He got to his feet and gazed up at the ceiling. There were no shouts or cries of alarm from above so the other two were not affected by his magic. It was a shame that he hadn't been able to get rid of them too but there would be a time and place for that. Right now, he wanted lunch.

He was almost smiling when he returned to them. His breathing was shallow and the energy from performing the spell had left him exhausted but he fell back on the sofa still smiling. He must have fallen asleep though for when he opened his eyes he saw Francis pulling on a coat with Arthur's car keys in his hand.

"Relax," he said when he saw Arthur watching him with disapproval, "I take it the 'spell' has been done so I'm going to the shops. We need more (better) food with the others here and clothes for us all. I've got your wallet."

Arsehole. Arthur couldn't argue against that though since it was practically 'him' who would be eating everything and wearing the clothes. He nodded faintly. "It is done," Arthur said in relief, "the spell has been cast and no more will appear."

"And the other two?"

Arthur closed his eyes. "I will tell my brothers of what is happening. Scotland should have a theory at the very least."

"I shall take my leave then. Little Angleterre is playing with the Knight in the garden. I was going to take him but they're having too much fun." It was a pity for Francis would have loved to dress Little Arthur in all the outfits. It would be quicker to go alone as well for the child may have acted up. It would also give him time to phone in his own Government and explain his sudden disappearance. "Please remember to call me on what is happening," he requested as he took a last glance at the two past forms who were back outside. It would be difficult to leave the child but he would have to leave now or Little Angleterre would be upset.

"I will." Arthur followed his gaze and shook his head. Sentimental old fool. The child wouldn't even notice he was gone... he hoped.

Francis smiled slyly and leaned in to kiss Arthur's cheeks in the classic French farewell. "Salut, mon lapin," he winked as he waved and left the room. He could still hear Arthur's curses as he got into the car.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur was back on his feet after half an hour rest. He was even whistling as he cooked the three of them lunch (scrambled eggs on toast). He had the idea of doing fish and chips for them but had little clue to what Francis had planned for dinner time. He didn't want to make them sick with over-eating. He poured out juice in a two glasses and then poured milk into small cup for the youngest.

The child was sitting on top of a pile of cushions so he could reach the top of the table. His little legs swung as he sulked. He had not been happy with the French nation after discovering he had left without warning. He had refused to speak to both Arthur and the Knight and neither doubted that the scallywag was probably plotting revenge against Francis when he got back.

The Knight didn't seem too happy either. He looked just as unsettled at the thought of not having an extra nation around to help with the problem. Yes, he felt safe with himself but he still could not remove this unpleasant feeling that infected him since he went down to the basement. It didn't feel like a dark presence was closing in on him but, rather, a dark presence was going to arrive.

"There! Scrambled eggs on toast. The ideal dish for two hungry children!" Arthur said proudly as he placed the plates down on the table; completely ignoring the lack of enthusiasm from the others. He sat down with them and cut up the food so the child could eat without much hassle. The Knight, having removed some of his armour so he was more flexible at moving, frowned at the fact he had been called a child.

"May I ask what you were doing outside?" Arthur asked the two as he handed the child a fork. "The fire you tried to build may not be a wise idea. If the neighbours saw it I would be the one who gets in trouble." There it was; the concerned parent act. What else could he do? Though they were him, they were still so young. He hoped it was enough to get the two talking.

The two exchanged a look before looking back down at their meals. The child had decided against the fork and was using his hands to shovel in the food while the Knight was tapping the fork onto the plate. Clearly, they weren't that happy with admitting to Arthur what they were up to. Silence was becoming uncomfortable so Arthur moved on to another topic in hopes of improving their relationships.

"If it is about the... splitting up... I will arrange for Scotland to come down." Arthur knew they would be just as happy to see the brother again as he was. During the child years, Scotland had bullied him in the way that older siblings often did and the Knight was quick to deal it back with enough wars against those Scots. "Relax," he said when he noticed the tension thicken, "he won't be doing anything but helping."

"We're not concerned about him" the Knight said with a small frown. "We are worried about you." He had finally said and instantly regretted it. He looked back down at his meal and began to eat.

That answer took Arthur by surprise. He knew it was not at his very best but Francis would not have left if he thought he couldn't handle it. Yes, it had been weird at first to deal with that feeling of having something... missing from him but he adapted quite quickly. It may have been because the other two didn't wander so far away from him. It was only a theory. It was a good thing he performed that spell for the house would have been over-crowded otherwise. "Why?"

The Knight did not respond as he ate. He was clearly trying to get his thoughts sorted out before speaking his mind. Unfortunately, England was never good at explaining his thoughts and feelings and usually ended up sounding rude and annoyed. Arthur had no idea who or what was at fault there but he remained silent as he waited for the answer.

"You've been influenced so much that it's difficult to make ourselves known." The Knight lowered his fork and looked at Arthur with a new feeling off anger.

"Your language has soon changed." Arthur smiled faintly. "Whatever happened to 'thou' and so on."

The Knight stood to his feet and slammed his hands onto the table. The child leapt from surprise and stared at him with large terrified eyes. Arthur immediately tensed up. The Knight didn't notice their reactions. "You have wounded my honour!"

"Sit down, boy," Arthur frowned at him, "do not be a fool. I understand where you are trying to come from but my past is stronger than most and stronger than yours. It is not easy to change that."

"Then stop living in the past," the Knight said coolly, "You bare hatred and resentment strongly because you cannot let go of the past! Our voices go unknown because of your stubborn pride!" The expression on Arthur's face was enough to get him moving. He excused himself from the table and headed upstairs. The child looked at Arthur before slipping down off the cushions to follow on after the Knight.

"..." Arthur continued on with his meal. Being lectured from himself was not pleasant. He knew he yearned for those 'golden years' and when he had everyone sitting nicely in the palm of his hand but... He made himself so many enemies out of the countries he once held so dear. How was he even capable of having friends? They all bore grudges against him, and he more so to them.

He rose from his chair and went to wash up the plates. It was difficult to know how to respond to that. Was that why the two refused to spend time with him? Were they equally angered and disappointed in him? Or was it because his 'golden years' he yearned for were also the darkest times of his life?

The phone snapped him out of his thoughts. Guessing it was probably Francis to let him know that the Frenchman was on his way back home; Arthur dried his hands on the tea-towel and then picked up the phone and held it against his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey Britain!"

"America?"

"I'm at the airport, dude! Where are you? I've been waiting ages!"

"Airport?! What airport?!"

"Err... a London one?"

France must have been behind this. Bloody git! How long had he known America was planning on coming over? Did he know about the situation? France must have told him something. He'll murder him!

"I can't leave the house at the moment. I have 'guests' over. You will have to take a taxi and remember not to yell at the driver for driving on the 'wrong' side this time. I'll pay the driver when you arrive. Understood?"

"No problem! Bye!"

Arthur hanged up the phone and sat down on his armchair. This was becoming too much for him. Whatever happened to his week off? Since he was by the phone, he picked it up and called his eldest brother. No answer. He expected as much. The idiot would probably be half drunk in the streets. He waited for the beep and the left a quick voice message of asking him to come over a.s.a.p for there was an urgent matter they needed to attend to. He hoped he didn't sound too needy for it (who would ever admit to needing the help of an older sibling?).

He then remembered the dishes and returned to the kitchen. While he washed, he thought about all the company he was going to have to put up with. The Knight and Alfred would have a guest room each and the child could stay with either him or the Knight. Francis would have to share with the Scot. There would be little protest over that as long as everyone behaved themselves. He would have to go shopping to collect enough drinks to keep the Scot happy during his stay here.

He dried his hands on a towel and then went to check his cupboards. Alfred would want a snack when he arrived. The child would be in bed soon for a nap and the Knight may need refreshment as well. It felt like a large family again. Despite all that was happening and the thick uneasy tension that would soon fill the house, Arthur smiled. Having a large family again felt like a sudden gift. It would be back to the old colony times - ah. He was going back to the past again.

Then, out of the blue, it hit him.

Oh no. No. Not again. Arthur swore under his breath as he leaned against the wall. The sick fainting feeling had been clouded over him since he woke up. He had been able to ignore it all day by thinking was nothing more than the side-effects from having two eras ripped away from him. Was another trying to break through? It felt far worse than any pain he had experienced recently, like there was a war raging on inside of him.

Arthur's head was spinning. It felt more intense than it had been before. The past that was trying to breaking through was putting up a strong fight against the spell he had performed. What was feeding this? What could be stronger than his magic? His magic was one of the strongest forces upon this earth... There was nothing else that could compare to it!

He doubled over in his pain and clenched his arms around his stomach. He could not see. The pain from being torn apart was causing his body to shut down on him. Heat was rising from him. He was not going to make it. The battle was already lost. He could practically feel a tear ripping through his body and mind. He had to warn the others...

He reached up and grasped on the plates he had clean. With the last of his energy, he threw it against the wall.

The crash brought about the attention of the younger two versions. The child took hold of his bow and held it tightly. The Knight got to his feet and pulled out his sword. Both were armed and ready for anything that would dare arrive in the bedroom. But there were no sounds of approaching footsteps or the sound of the front door opening.

Bang.

They flinched and jumped in alarm. Their outdated weapons would not be able to match any modern guns. Guns were after their times. Not even the amount of armour the Knight kept on would protect him from the bullets. They waited. And waited. But there were no sounds of movements from below.

"Stay here," the Knight ordered as he picked up the child by the back of his shirt ("LET ME GO! OFF ME! GET OFF, STUPID TIN MAN!") and tossed the child into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut behind him. He placed a box from beneath the bed in front of the door so the child would not be able to sneak out.

It was a Knight's duty to protect both women and children. This latest intruder would not be able to touch the child while he was around, even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process. With the Lord to watch over him, he would try his hardest and stop this latest version, regardless of what era they were from!

He slowly made his way downstairs, avoiding the steps that would creak, and lingered by the living room doorway. He did not hear anyone moving around inside. He looked over the door and saw the room was empty. He could smell smoke though. It must have been from the gunpowder in the gun. He slowly walked over to the kitchen and opened the door.

The Knight almost stepped back in fear at the sight that waited him.


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur was too weak to fight back. He was barely able to hold onto consciousness. An arm was held around his neck, perfectly capable of breaking it in a second should it decide to. He could feel the end of a barrel pressing to his skin. It was hot and was burning a mark into the side of his head. He didn't dare to swallow. He held his breath and fought to stay awake at the very most. He could see the terrified expression of the young boy in front of him. A blurred outline but he had blond hair...

Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. He closed them to attempt to hide the tears but it trailed down his cheek with no shame. "I'm sorry Alfred..." he whispered in a choked voice. "I didn't want you to see me like this..."

"You've been hiding me for a long time now..." A sickly sweet voice whispered into his ear. He could smell the alcohol upon the breath and tried not to shiver from the poisonous tone. "Don't worry about our former colony... I will give him exactly what he deserves. I'll see they all get what they deserve..."

"Unhand him!" The boy cried out in bravery as he tore towards the two of them. The barrel was removed from Arthur's head and he flinched from the sound of a gunshot. He kept his eyes closed as he heard metal hit the floor. A cry of pain followed. Someone was still struggling to fight back. There were movements. And laughter. Icy cold laughter. It was worst than the threatening whispers.

"Relax boy, and I'll make it quick and painless for you!"

"I will never give in until you've gone!" A loud angry voice replied. He could practically hear the hope and bravery in it. But there was laughter again and Arthur found himself pulled up sharply. He tried to struggle from the grip around him but couldn't break free. Exhaustion had drained him dry. His mind was so torn and jumbled that he could not tell what was happening even if his sight was stable.

"You have less than ten minutes before Death comes to take you away. I advice you make the best of what you have left. Maybe... pray to your pitiful God?"

There was enough cry of pain and Arthur balled up his hands into fists and tried to leash out at the one restraining him. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" he shouted out in anger.

The arm around his throat tightened. Arthur choked and tried to pull the arm away. "Sssh..." the voice whispered into his ear again, "Relax... This is what you've been longing for all these years, yes? I'm only here to give you exactly what you want. But if you're going to give me trouble then you are best removed out of the picture..."

There was a brief soft touch of lips against his cheek before the gun's barrel was pressed against his temple again. This was his infamous golden years that he had longed for...?

-/-

Alfred didn't mind driving through London. He got himself a taxi and was looking at the familiar sights as they went by. He did love London. He remembered the time he took Arthur through all the shops and ended up with an 'I Love London' shirt (he love those shirts and would make the nations buy the 'I love NY' ones whenever they visited). He wasn't that obsessed with London though! He was a typical American tourist who loved practically any city he visited and always got tons of souvenirs. His house was filled with them.

It was a shame that the weather was so terrible in the UK though. The clouds were dark and he had no doubt that it would begin to rain soon. It always did. And, sure enough, a few minutes later it did. And he still forgot to bring an umbrella with him every time.

Resting his head against the window, he watched as the first few raindrops hit against it. He picked one of the drops and raced the other to reach the bottom of the window first. Unfortunately, the two mingled into one halfway and the race was over with.

He wondered why Britain would suddenly allow for him to come over. When he called a couple of days ago, Britain didn't seem too eager. He sounded annoyed and angry and had hanged up on him. Then when France asked for him to come over and he sounded rather... panicked? Was Britain okay? Something was happening and, being the nosey American he was, he wanted to know.

He then blinked and turned around on his seat to gaze out of the back window. That man who was walking down the street... he looked just like Britain! No, it was Britain. He didn't know how to describe it but nations recognised another when close by. "Driver, turn around." Alfred kept his eyes locked on the strange figure in red. The driver made the turn at a roundabout and Alfred lost sight of him.

When the taxi made a turn around a corner, Alfred spotted him again. He quickly ordered the driver to stop here, tossed a handful of notes (dollars to the driver's annoyance) at him, and then dashed out. The rain was coming down heavier now. He ran over to the figure in red and placed his hand onto his shoulder, "hey Britain! What you doing out here? and...fuck... why you dressed like that?"

Britain turned. He was wearing what Alfred knew as a pirate's outfit with a large feathered hat and high heeled shoes to complete the look (Britain was almost the same size as he was now). The Pirate smiled, and Alfred knew that something was off. That was one of Britain's arrogant and aggressive kind of smiles. He had been with the Briton long enough to know that he was planning something. "... Britain?"

"Hello, America." The Pirate lowered his hand that had been clenched over the handle of his pistol and tipped his hat at the American. "Do you not like the outfit?" He looked down at himself in mock surprise. "That is a shame. I was planning on surprising you too but it seems as though I got caught. I thought you would have gone back to mine as I told you to."

All suspicion was tossed aside in light of Alfred's child like joy. Not even that darker tone of the last sentence was acknowledged by the American who grinned eagerly. "Dude, seriously?! A surprise for me? What is it? A party? It's a party, right?!" He loved parties! It wasn't his birthday not any other holiday but who needed those excuses to have a great party?! "Will there be DJs? It's a rave party, right? Better let me pick the music though! We don't want any of your old man music ruining it!"

The Pirate laughed. "It's a surprise, lad! You'll have to wait and see. It won't be a surprise if I told you. But I assure you that it is one of the best surprises you could ever have. You'll never see it coming!"

"Can I come with you?" Alfred said eagerly, "When is the surprise? Now? Are you getting the party set up? Is it at yours?"

The Pirate tapped the side of his nose and the smile grew. "You may indeed come, but it's a fair journey to be had. We have to travel to the pier first. The surprise is not until the end but it will be to die for."

"You're taking me on a cruise?!" America quickly guessed. That would explain the get up! It would be a pirate cruise! A party on a cruise! Would it be an actual party ship too? That would make it even more awesome! He was getting excited thinking about it. He wanted to jump around in joy but managed to contain himself to a light jump.

"Bingo! Got it in one!" The Pirate cheered and clapped his hands together in a slow mocking motion. "Now, shall we move on? A taxi may be needed for us to reach our destination sooner."

Alfred turned around to see what had happened to his. The driver had already left the scene. Alfred sighed and then seized Britain's hand and raced off down the path in search of a new taxi. He wanted to see what Britain had planned! And if this was a dress up party then he would have to be the King of the party! He would have to wear the best outfit!

"Wait!" Alfred grinned as he slowed down. Britain was panting slightly behind and instantly tugged his hand free with a dark livid glare that Alfred failed to notice. "I'll have to get an outfit too! Can I be a Captain as well? We can't have two captains though... I could be the Hero! I'll be a navy officer and protect all the people from the villainous pirates of the seas!"

Britain raised an eyebrow of disbelief at him. This complete moron honestly believed that he would be able to protect the common people from pirates? Did he live in the movies? He wondered if he was even aware of reality. Then, remembering his act, smiled and nodded again. "Of course! Every good Captain needs a strong rival. There'll be no fun to be had if everything went swimmingly..."

Alfred took a look around. He hadn't realised where he's been going and was only following after the crowd. Crap. "Let's go looking for a dressing up shop!" He encouraged before taking the pirate's arm and leading him on down the street again. "You know where to go, right?"

The pirate pulled his arm away from Alfred. It took a lot of self-control to stop himself from hitting Alfred across the face. Another forced smile and he looked over at the street signs. "Follow me," he said as he walked on down the street. "I have to pick up a few supplies myself so I can leave you in the shop to get your outfit."

"You're going to get me a cake?" Alfred asked eagerly. "With lots of candles!"

"There'll be many candles... ~ "

"And balloons!"

"We'll see..."

-/-

The child's hand rose and pushed open the door. Everything had fallen silent for the last few hours. He didn't know how much time went. He was curled up at the back of the cupboard and had his hands covering his ears. It was scary. It sounded as though there was a monster out there! Tears were stained down his face. Neither of the two Englands came to fetch him so he had to see for himself.

The box was eased away after several strong pushes and Little Arthur climbed out of the wardrobe. He quietly walked across the floor and nervously made his way down the stairs. The fairies instantly appear when he got to the bottom and pleaded for him to not go into the kitchen. They didn't tell him why. Sadly, England was never one to listen to other people no matter what age he was at.

He ignored them and brushed them aside when they tried to pull him away.

The first thing he noticed the blood coating over the floor. His hands tightened over his shirt. It took a lot of courage for him to step into the kitchen, careful to avoid stepping into the blood. The Knight was leaning against the wall. Blood was smeared on the wall behind him and his head was hung forward with blood still dripping down.

He then noticed the second laying on the floor with a wound to his head and a pool of blood around him. Footsteps were left in the blood. Someone had left through the back door.

"Kn-knight...?" He whispered as he walked over to the body. He shook it gently. The Knight's head fell to the side and revealed a deep cut across his neck.

The child may not have known a lot about killing and death but by hunting he knew a corpse when he saw one. He held his hands over his eyes to hide the sight. The tears were back. They were both gone.

He was left alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Something was definitely off about Arthur. Alfred wasn't any good at reading the atmosphere (whatever that meant!) but had spent many decades in Arthur's company to know what he was like. Sure, Britain was a grumpy old person that needed to get out more but he was never like this. He was angry a lot too but not how he was earlier.

Alfred had spent a good half an hour waiting outside the dress-up. He wanted to wear his old uniform but had to settle for the closest outfit they had to it (there was a cheesy beard included and he wore that for a laugh). Many of the shops were closed now so he was lucky enough to find it when he did. He was lingering outside the dressing-up shop impatiently when a taxi suddenly stopped front of him. The door opened and the Pirate stuck out his head.

"Get in," he said impatiently.

The American climbed into the back passenger seat and barely closed the door when the taxi took off. The driver looked around pale and was deadly silent while Arthur was unable to sit still and was constantly looking behind them. He didn't have bags with him, which disappointed Alfred a bit for he thought the Brit was going to buy more supplies for the party.

When he asked, the Pirate snapped at him to be quiet. Alfred was too shocked by this to make comment. Usually he would joke about and ask 'who ate your burgers?' but the deadly look he received told him it would be best to keep quiet on this. He didn't know why, but the sudden dark tone that Britain spoke in almost chilled him to the core. He was hardly the kind to stay silent for long though. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched the Pirate gradually calm down.

"Where are we going?" he asked after several minutes of silence that had almost killed him with boredom. "You said the pier, right?"

"Correct. We've got quite a journey to make. We'll have to take the train." That would put a lot of distance between them. "You will have to pay for the tickets."

"Why me?" Alfred complained. If it was his party then he shouldn't have to pay for it!

The Pirate smiled suddenly. It wasn't the response he was expecting. "I have little money left on my person. Unless you want to remain here and miss the party, you will have to pay. I could get the money if you truly protest..." He gazed went over to the driver. Alfred failed to read the meaning but shrugged. He might as well pay for the tickets then.

"I'm sure the driver would not mind changing direction and taking us by car," The Pirate said in his sweet voice that dripped with poison. Clearly, he already had an effect upon the driver for he did not hesitate to nod and took the next turning when he could. It would be easier by car since it was only the two of them the Pirate had to worry about.

"So where are we going?" Alfred attempted again with a small smile. If he was paying for the tickets, it would give him a chance to see where they were heading too exactly. Being an island, there were plenty of beaches around Britain. He was terrible at his geography though so probably wouldn't even know where the beach was. The only thing he really knew was that London was capital of Britain, right? "We're getting a ship, aren't we?"

At the last question, Britain only smiled. Alfred found himself really not liking that smile. It was as bad as that tone he had spoken in earlier. "Britain...? Are you okay?"

"Hmmm?" The Pirate glanced from the car window to Alfred. "I have never felt better."

"You sure? You seem kinda... off." That was the best way he could phrase it.

The Pirate smiled again and Alfred flinched. "On the contrary, my little former colony, I feel as if I've had much weight lifted from my shoulders and granted a new sense of freedom I have long been denied."

'My little former colony'? Since when had Britain ever referred to him like that? Alfred was now the one to frown. He could not deny that when he was very young he enjoyed Britain's company but when he grew older it became unbearable. The two rarely speak of that time now unless they were trying to wound the other's ego and pride.

The Pirate noticed the sudden stiffness in America's body and chuckled, "Is there was problem?"

Alfred had no idea what to reply. This Britain was behaving completely different from how he usually did. What the hell had caused it? Or maybe... No, it couldn't be! Could it? He suddenly laughed nervously and waved his hands in front of himself. "No, no! I'm totally thrilled for the party! I'm getting impatient! A-are we close?"

The Pirate glanced back out of the window. "No." And if Alfred made this into one of those awful car games then he would not hesitate to slice out his tongue. It was something that he had longed to do since the idiot found his voice.

Almost as though he could sense what the pirate was thinking (which he couldn't), Alfred looked out of the window for anything that would provide him a needed distraction. "PIT STOP!" Alfred cried out when he noticed a McDonalds sign ahead. "Driver, pull over here! I need to take a leak!"

"No." The Pirate responded firmly. "We do not have time to stop."

"I'll leak in here!" Alfred threatened as he began to wiggle about on his seat. Dramatic performance, maybe, but if it got him out of the car then... "Seriously, I need to go! I drank so much coke at the airport!"

"Fine!" The Pirate snapped with a sudden coldness. "Driver, let the pathetic brat out before he wets himself!"

Brat?! Alfred huffed and got out of the car when the taxi driver stopped in the car-park. He didn't bother to wait for Britain to follow him and quickly sprinted over to the toilets. Thankfully, no one was inside. He tugged out his phone and made a call to his old friend Toni. The little alien was taking his time to answer: must be watching all those Superbowls that Alfred recorded.

At last, the cursing and high-pitched voice of Toni answered.

"Toni! I need your help!" Alfred said frantically as he paced across the tiled floor. "Britain has cracked! What happened? It wasn't meant to end up like this!"

He paused when Toni replied. "I told you I wanted to spend more time with him! What did you do? I didn't imagine it like this!" Even though the party cruise idea was one of Arthur's best ideas ever. "He's totally acting different!"

"YOU DID WHAT?! Toni, I never meant time like that! Is he the real Britain? He is? But how! He doesn't act like Britain!" That would explain why France had been panicked earlier. Wait, what had happened to France? France had been at Britain's. Were the rest of them there too or where they all running around? Ah! He messed up big time!

Oh hell. He was going to be in trouble now. There was no way that Britain won't explode in his face if he found out what had happened. He leant over a sink and ran his hand under the water and then rubbed it over his face to cool himself down. "No, no, Toni, just tell me that you can undo it. You can? Swell!" Now he could smile again. "What do I need to -"

A sudden gunshot made Alfred leap in the air and turn on the spot. His phone was blasted out of his hand, leaving a dull ringing behind in his ear. The phone lay smashed and useless on the floor. The bullet had barely gazed his hair. The usual cheerfulness that was America had been replaced with nervous terror as he gazed at Britain.

"I think that will be enough..." The Pirate said as he blew away the smoke from his barrel. "Now... What shall I do with you?"

America regained himself. It was only Britain. He had beaten him before. Yes, he had help back then but so did Britain. One on one wouldn't be much of a contest. America had brute strength whereas Britain only had that crap gun that he could easily break in a heartbeat if he could just get hold of it.

He cracked his hands into his knuckles and frowned. "Bring it."

-/-

Francis folded the menu and placed it back down on the table. He had just ordered his meal at the best restaurant he could find (he didn't want to run around in the rain any longer and refused to lower his tastes to the common English cafes). The designer bags were placed underneath the table. He would buy the food later but wanted to have lunch before so.

Arthur was going to murder him if he found out how much he had spent. It wasn't as though he was short on money though. Francis couldn't wait to dress everyone up in their new outfits and he even brought Arthur an outfit too! It would be rude not to.

He rested his chin on his hands and looked around at the people on the other tables. Many were couples. He loved watching couples. He loved seeing their locked gazes, their shared laughs, and the way they would hold hands upon the table whilst talking. He smiled softly as he observed. Love was truly the most beautiful thing upon the planet. And who was the country of love? ~

The wine came and Francis took a sip of the red wine. It was imported from France so, naturally, found no fault with it. It was a good year too. It was a shame he didn't have anyone to share it with. He could have easily gotten himself a date by scouting the streets for any pretty girls, or guys, and bring them here. Sadly, he knew his time was limited so decided to go alone.

A vibration shook from his trouser pocket. Francis removed his phone and flipped it open. Six missed calls? He frowned. Who was trying to reach him so drastically? He barely had time to look at the number calling when the phone rang again. He answered it on the first ring, "allo?"

He fell silent. Someone was sobbing on the other side. They sounded scared. He recognised those cries. "Mon lapin?"

The crying grew harder. Francis instantly stood up and picked up his bags from under the table. He used his shoulder to keep the phone pressed to his ear. "What happened? Did someone else appear? Are you okay?" he asked as he waved the waiter over. He was getting strange looks from the people around him now but he cared very little for that.

The crying continued. He wasn't even sure the child was capable of speaking. Francis toned down the urgency in his voice and spoke as gently as he could to try and calm the child down, "Angleterre, don't cry. I'll be over as quickly as I can, oui? I'll be there to help you. I will call you back on my mobile and we'll talk until I arrive. Don't go anywhere! You hear me?"

He barely had a small 'yes' and quickly hung up. He instantly dialled out another number and waited for the answer. Francis could make it there in about an hour if he hurried (curse this capital city traffic!). No answer. He cursed silently and quickly paid for the wine he drank. He tucked the bottle into a bag and then sprinted out of the cafe.

Francis pushed his way through the crowds. He stumbled once or two and could hear people shouting after him in anger. He made his way over to the car park and sprinted up the stairs. By the time he got the level he parked Arthur's car, he was panting. The car was by the corner so he tossed in the bags in the side passenger seat and strapped himself into the passenger seat.

He tried dialling the number again and waited as patiently as he could for an answer. On the third ring, the strong accent travelled down the phone.

"Aye? What do ya want?"

"L'Ecosse, I need you help!"

"I'm already on me way."


	10. Chapter 10

Nothing prepared Francis for what he would see when he walked into England's home. He was unable to get anything out of the child during the phone calls and spent most of the time trying to comfort him. He parked the car and left the bags inside it. He had entered by the back door since he forgot to take the house keys and had barely gotten through the gate when the child ran over and wrapped his arms around Francis' legs.

Tears were streaming down the child's face. Francis knelt down and picked him up. He held him close to his chest as Little Arthur sobbed again. "Ssshh... It's alright, I'm here now." Francis stroked the back of his head and looked down at the child with a feeble smile.

Then, in the corner of his eyes, he noticed something on the pavement. The colour reflected from the night lights that had come on; a deep red colour. There were bloody footsteps of two different kinds. One looked like someone had been wearing boots while the other was much smaller and bare footed. Francis looked down at the child's feet to find blood soaking the bottom of them. Where had all that blood come from...?

"Keep your eyes close..." Francis said sternly as he placed his hand over the child's eyes and walked towards the back door where the footsteps left from. As he drew closer, he could smell the familiar fragrance of death. It haunted him in his worst nightmares and it was something that no nation would ever forget for as long as they existed.

He almost slipped upon the blood that covered the floor. There's a pair of shoes he'll have to throw out later. He tucked the child onto his hip (the child hide his face into Francis' shoulder) and peered down at the two bodies. Neither had made a sign of recovery. Francis held his breath and tried to keep down the sudden urge to throw up. Would they be able to recover? Nations could not be killed but one that had been ripped apart...? No. As far as he was aware, both the two Arthurs would recover and everything will be fine.

Who would have done such a thing? Was it a common criminal? Impossible. He knew from experience that England was not easy to take down. Even the child in his arms would put up a major fight till the mortal gave up. The only conclusion he could think of was that the spell had failed and someone else broke free. Guessing by the footprints and the brutality of the scene before him, Francis knew it was only person who would have done this.

The infamous Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Back when the death of his wife and queen had caused England to abandon his duties as a nation and become a pirate. He had terrorised the seven seas and, because of his immortal life, had many legends and myths told about him. No one was able to catch him. The mortals could not believe one man would have lived long enough to cause so much damage. Only the nations knew the truth and barely any of them had the courage to confront him. Francis had once, by orders of his King, for the idea of having the English nation in his power again sounded too good to pass up and would provide a healthy income of money if they sold him off to Spain or the people of England (his country was in great debt). Needless to say, it did not go according to plan and he would never speak of the time.

So what would make him so easy to capture again? France was no in position to go hunting for him so what was he going to do? The two Englands would need to be tended too. The sooner they got treated the sooner they would recover. But the pirate was out there somewhere and he was going to be planning something. America and Scotland were on their way but how long would it take for them to get here?

Eager to get away from the smell, Francis carried the child to the back garden and dialled the American's number. Out of the two of them, he should be the closest. But the phone didn't even ring. Instead it was that awful woman telling him that the number has not been recognised Francis wanted to yell at her but hanged up instead. That accused American must have changed his number!

He called the Scot and almost cried in delight when he answered. "Where are you, mon ami?"

"A mile away. Give us a damn minute and I'll be there."

A minute? He couldn't wait a minute! He was getting more frantic with every passing second! He tried to control himself the best he could because of the child but he couldn't cease his fidgeting. He wasted the time by finding flowerpots to cover up the bloody footprints and kept the door closed in case any of the neighbours decided to peek over. Thankfully, most of the neighbours would be heading off to bed at this time so no one was aware of what was happening.

Five minutes later, he heard a car at the front and resisted the urge to sprint over to the gate. The Scot barely got close when the Frenchman smothered him in a tight embrace, crushing the poor child between them. He ranted off in French about the horrors inside. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that the Scot didn't speak any French but the red haired male waited patiently for Francis to remove himself from him and fall silent.

"Mind telling me, what's going on here?" The Scottish nation asked as he raised his bushy eyebrows at the child. "Where he come from?"

Little Arthur looked up at Scotland. Who knew why, for Francis was surprised this happened, but the child raised his hands at him. Scot raised his eyebrow again then removed the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it beneath his shoe. He then picked up the child from Francis' arms and held him close. Little Arthur's hands curled around the Scot's shirt and he sniffed as the tears subsided.

Trying to recover from that shock, for England and Scotland rarely ever held any compassion for each other, Francis lead him over to the back door and opened it. "It's a long story but first we need to tend to these two..."

"Who did this?" Scotland asked as he stepped over the bodies and looked down to examine the wounds made.

Francis wrapped his arms around himself. "That awful pirate."

"Aye?" Scotland narrowed his eyes. He remembered that time period very well. In fact, it only came to an end when he took the British navy under his control and sought out his brother. It was one of the bloodiest battles they ever had but the navy had won and the pirate was soon dangling from the noose. Time in the Tower of London crushed out any of that remaining rebellious spirit or so he had thought.

"Mon dieu, has Amérique arrived?!" Francis suddenly asked in alarm. That would be very bad timing. That is, if America had bothered to show up at all. He didn't sound too sure over the phone. Then again, Francis was rather panicked. But no one could be worse than the pirate, right? No. Not even if another England arrives with a plague. That would be pleasant compared to the pirate. In fact, he found himself longing for the plagued England rather than the pirate.

The child shook his head. No one had arrived since the pirate left. He had been left along with two corpses and France on the phone. He was lucky to be able to call him. He tried three different people until he reached Francis. He yawned. All the panic and terror had left him tired. But he didn't want to sleep until the other two woke up. If they did.

"Take him to bed," Scot said as he stood up and handed the child back over to Francis. "Give him medicine to knock him out or he'll get nightmares."

Francis nodded. It would give him time to calm down his nerves too. He could return to the car afterwards and finish the rest of the wine he brought. That would do the trick perfectly. Despite the orders of medicine (Francis knew the Scot would suggest a shot of whiskey for the child for the Brits always seem to think the alcohol was good medicine), Francis took out a chocolate bar from the cupboard and then left Scotland with the mess to clean up.

After a quick clean to remove the blood from the boy and check for any injuries, France carried Little Arthur to the same spare room they shared last night and tucked him in under the covers.

"Have some chocolate," Francis said with a small smile as he held it out. "It will give you good dreams..."

Unsure, Little Arthur accepted the chocolate and placed a bit in his mouth. He only managed that piece before he was yawning again. Francis kissed the top of his head and left with him with the chocolate in hand. He stopped by the doorway and looked back over at the child. Knowing this would make him look like an idiot, and he would never admit to doing it, he cleared his voice and said, "You there! Imaginary... magical ... friends I can't see! Take care of him now!"

As he left; the fairies, unicorn, brownie, flying mint bunny, and the rest all nodded and settled around the child to guide him into peaceful dreams.

-/-

The salty crisp air hung in the air. The seagulls were soaring over head to return to their nests and he swore he could see dolphins below. It was another beautiful fine night upon the fort. Sealand had been hard at work for his fort had needed repairs and it had taken him forever to get around to fixing all the leaks. Had he more people living here, it would have been easier and quicker. But the boy's enthusiasm knew no boundaries. He wiped his sweaty brow on the back of his hand and admired his work achievements as he stood on top of the deck and looked out across the sea. At least he was free to decide upon his own bedtime.

One of the few workers came over to him with a mobile phone in his hand. "There's a phone call for you," he said as he offered the phone for the child to take. It was strange to be referring to a child in such manner and many struggled to remember to. It was no surprise but the child was a hard worker like the rest of them and shared in the dream of having the fort recognised as a nation.

Sealand grinned and took the phone. It would be nice if he was referred to as 'sir' like the rest of the nations but he was far too excited about receiving a phone-call to mind. Maybe it was Latvia again? Did he want to come over? Instead, he was surprised to hear that broad accent he knew since his creation. It was that damn jerk and he sounded smug.

"Hello, Sealand. How have you been doing?"

Sealand frowned. England rarely ever made contact with him. Usually it was only when Sealand was planning something did England suddenly appear out of nowhere to straighten things out. He was hardly the 'daddy' figure that he should have been. In fact, Peter spent most of his time trying to hang around with Sweden and Finland. "Fine. What do you want, jerk?"

"Now now, that's not very nice language."

Weird. Usually England would have given him a month long lecture about how important it was to have manners. A speech that Sealand could almost recall by heart and would often mock England with it.

"I was merely interested if you wanted to go on a trip with America and I."

That lifted his mood. A trip?! With two of the largest powers on the Earth?! There was no chance Sealand was passing up that opportunity! He could impress them so much that they would have to recognise him! Once he convinced those two into letting him be a nation, the rest would soon follow! Success would be his! He grinned. "Sure! Where and when?"

"That would be ruining the surprise. We will be coming to you so wait patiently if you can. Be as close to the shore as possible without picking up attention. We will get a boat to you."

Sealand nodded, forgetting they couldn't see him, and hanged up. He jumped with glee and then rolled up his sleeves. It was time to really put this fort to the test and make her shine! This will be a truly unforgettable trip! He would make sure that neither England nor America ever forgot about it! His big moment had finally come.


	11. Chapter 11

"What did you do?" Alfred asked suspiciously when the Pirate hung up the payphone. He didn't get a verbal answer, only another dark smile. Alfred glared at him to the best of his ability. His right eye was badly bruised after he fought to defend himself back in the toilets. Luckily, he did manage to get a couple of good punches in and the Pirate was now supporting a bruised jaw.

The worst part was that Texas had been cracked. He despised the Pirate for that. Yet he had agreed to come along with the Pirate after learning (the Pirate had a habit of bragging, especially when they were fighting) that he had apparently killed two people so far. He had to stop him from hurting anyone else.

Plus, Britain was clearly not himself and it was his fault. Alfred couldn't think what Tony had done exactly but he knew that this was not the Britain that he knew. He would have to stay with him to protect Britain's people and find a way to stop this. To do that, he would need to get back into contact with Tony.

"Dude, it's my turn to use the phone." He reached out a hand to pick up the phone but the Pirate slapped his hand away. He glared at the Pirate.

The Pirate shook his finger at Alfred with a 'tut tut'. Alfred hated that too. He was treated like a child and it did not sit well with him. No. Worse than that. He was being treated like a colony. And that really did not sit well with him.

The Pirate turned on his heels and walked off down the street. "Come, we must find a ride that will get us to Sealand."

"Sealand?" Who, or what, the hell was Sealand? Some of Alfred's anger was washed away by his curiousity and confusion as he quickly followed after Britain. "Why do you want to go there?" he asked suspiciously.

"Why not?" The Pirate countered back, "he served a good purpose in the past and he can again."

Alfred didn't like the way he had phrased that. He walked beside the Pirate though and looked out for another means of communication. Maybe there was someone he could call that would get him into contact with Tony? Canada could. Maybe. And there was France who told him to come. He clearly knew something wasn't right. He would have to get Tony to make him some of those communicators from the sci-fi movies he loved. That would stop this problem from ever happening again.

Speaking of which, Tony had never been able to grasp the concept of time. It was, as Tony tried to explain, a man-made invention. Alfred had tried to explain it to him but had struggled to answer all of the alien's questions. Time was anything from a second ago to centuries ago which was probably why this mistake had happened in the first place.

"Are you Britain?" It was better than nothing. The Pirate acknowledged the time he was in and could use a phone so he must have held some knowledge from the Britain Alfred knew.

"Yes, and no."

What wouldn't he do to get a damn proper answer?! Relax, he told himself, this is exactly like level 23 of that game where the clones are running around and you had to fine the original one. "Is there more than one of you?"

"Yes." The Pirate smiled faintly. "We are past images of the current England projected into this era. If you must know, there are four of us in total – including the current one. Have no fear; I already took care of them. They will not be bothering up for a long while."

Alfred may not be the brightest bulb in the closet but he knew what the Pirate meant by that. He tensed up and his hands clenched into fists but he did not strike the Pirate down. He knew that nations would recover. It was only a matter of time before France or Britain would come looking for them. Till then, America would stay with him to stop him harming anyone else and see what he wanted with this 'Sealand' character – whoever he was.

He slowed down slightly so he was walking behind the Pirate. Maybe he could leave a few pieces behind that will lead Britain to them? A trail, so to say. He would have be to sly about it though and make sure that the Pirate did not catch on to what he was doing. He was like a captured secret agent that was trying to lead the others to him!

"I want something to eat," he said suddenly as they walked past a corner shop. He tugged the Pirate inside with him, and began to look around for anything that Britain would acknowledge from him. What would there be in the sweet shop that the American could be identified with when this was all British sweets? He scanned the shelves with the impatient pirate watching his every motion behind him.

Jelly Babies, Liquorice Allsorts, Lovehearts, Wine gums, Drumsticks, Polos, Fruit Pastilles, Flying Saucers - the list was endless. Wait! The Flying Saucers! If he remembered from a packet he brought before they contained sherbet inside and melted in the mouth. Flying Saucers were UFO shaped. Would Britain, or France, make the link though?

"Would you hurry up?!" The Pirate snapped.

He picked up all the packets they had and walked over to the counter. Thankfully, he had a few British coins on him but only because of the amount of times that Britain had yelled at him over not bringing the right money with him. He had forgotten but held some change leftover from his last visit. It would be a lot easier if everyone used the dollars like he did!

"That's hardly going to fill you up," the Pirate commented as he looked at the packets when Alfred returned to him. "It's sugary crap. I won't have you getting hyperactive around me."

Alfred shrugged and placed a couple of the flying saucers into his mouth. When they left the shop, he dropped his hand down to his side and dropped a couple that he had hidden up his sleeve. The Pirate didn't even notice when they got another taxi (the former had driven away in fright).

When they finally got another one, giving Alfred a chance to drop more along the way, Alfred rolled down the window and placed his arm onto the edge. The Pirate was too busy staring out of the other window to notice so every now and then, when they were close to the path, he seized the chance to drop a few more sweets out of the window.

It was a long shot but maybe Britain would be able to catch onto it. It was a good thing he wasn't on his own time zone here, and therefore able to stay awake for another few hours.

-/-

What… what had happened? His mind was a blur. He could only remember fractions of what had happened. His head was aching as though he had banged his head repeatedly against a wall. No. It felt worst than that. He could smell blood. It had to be his. Was he injured? Or killed? He remembered an intense feeling of pain as someone fought back against his magical seal… but why did it feel as though he was recovering from death?

"Ya finally awake."

He knew that voice. The heavy accent that barely anyone could understand completely unless they had been stuck with the bastard for most their life. Scotland. What was Scotland doing here? He didn't make any phone-calls. He did mean to but was too busy fussing around with his counterparts. Wait… where were they? Were they still alive? He did feel completely empty and drained energy. They must have still been around somewhere.

Arthur tried to open his eyes but the searing pain of light instantly meant he closed them again. The light caused another sharp throb through his head. Someone placed their arm around his shoulders and gently lifted him up to a sitting position. He could feel them prodding the back of his head. It was painful.

"Your wound is healing up nicely, Angleterre."

So France was back here too? He forced his eyes to open. There was someone sitting on the end of the bed. It was a blurred image but he noticed the bright red hair. That was his dear older brother, Scotland. He looked over to the side and noticed a purple shirt. That must be Francis who was tending to his head wound.

"What happened?" His voice was cracked and hoarse. Yes, he had definitely died. He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember what had happened. Everything was jumbled up in his mind though. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw the Knight and Child. France had been around, hadn't he? France was... cooking?

"The Pirate," Francis said as he lowered Arthur back down onto the pillows. He didn't need to expand on that. What colour was left in Arthur's cheeks was drained away. It was difficult to express his feelings about that matter. In the end, he preferred to behave as though that time had never happened and murder the unfortunate bastards who dare to bring it up. "You do not remember? I am not surprised. The bullet must have damaged the memory."

"Really?" Arthur said sarcastically. He had just reached that conclusion himself and did not need the idiot to repeated it. His sarcasm went either unnoticed or ignored for he did not get a reply. France must have suspected to receive rudeness when Arthur woke. It wasn't every day they recovered from death.

"He broke ya spell," Scotland said bluntly with no tone of sympathy or understanding for his ill brother. "You messed up. He kicked ya arse."

Arthur glared at him. Typical response. He had no idea if it was meant to be a scolding or a tease. He didn't have the strength in him to argue back. Scotland knew enough about magic to understand that the force behind the separation was on a different thread from the magic they knew. Had Arthur been at his full health then he would have easily taken down the pirate!

He turned his head to the side to look up at Francis. He looked as stressed as Arthur felt. "How are the other two?"

"Mon lapin is safe," Francis said softly, "But your Knight self has yet to recover."

Arthur tried to push himself back up but Francis pushed him back down. Arthur sighed. He barely had any strength left in him to move Francis away. The child was safe, which was a huge relief, but the Knight was still in the danger zone. It didn't sound deadly though or they would be watching over him instead of Arthur.

"We need to find him before he does anything dangerous to my people."

"That's why we're here." Scotland spoke up as he looked down at Arthur. "You know his mind better than us. Where would he have gone?"

Where would he have gone...? Arthur placed his arm over his eyes. It blocked out the light from the bedroom and cleared his mind from the pain. He had to think but it was hard to. "Give me some damn pain-killers!"

Being two steps ahead of him, Francis pushed the tablets and a glass of water into his hands. It wasn't as much as he wanted but Arthur accepted them and swallowed the tablets before the water. He drank it down quickly and then coughed violently. It didn't settle well. It made him feel nauseous. A good strong cuppa would have been better with a number of shots.

Back to thinking. His pirate self would have been hell bent on getting his power status back. What else would he have craved above power? Revenge. He loved revenge that came from gaining power. Was there anyone around that he would want revenge on? Maybe Scotland for ending his reign but he wouldn't have gone off if he knew Scotland was coming here.

Where would he have gotten his power status back from? The fleets of the British Navy were far more advance than his wooden pirate ship. His pirate self would not have challenged the Navy in getting a ship for himself. Not even a country would freely request one and get it.

So what was he doing?!

"I don't know," he admitted weakly. "We'll have to wait and find out."

"That is what I am afraid of," Francis replied. He stood up. "I'll go check on the others." Francis looked over at Scotland then picked up something that was leaning against the drawers. He pressed a gun into Scotland's hand and vanished out of the room. It looked old-fashioned but from recent times like the 40s. Francis must have taken that out of his attic too.

"What is that for?" England asked sharply to the red-head.

"According to Franny, this spell is set out daily. That means come dinner time we may be expecting the next one. We don't know who it is so we don't want a repeat of last time."

Arthur groaned. He would have to experience three forms splitting away from him, death, and now another one who could possibly be making his way too? Some bastard out there hated his guts. And now he had all day to dread it.


	12. Chapter 12

If he could express the thoughts in his mind just then, France's and Scotland's ears would be bleeding heavily with all he had to say to them. Fortunately for them, he was in no condition to even chew his breakfast properly. The recovery from death, the feeling of being torn apart, and the signs of another past trying to break through was damaging his body beyond the point where he could not fight back the pain and was left almost paralysed at times.

But it had given his mind time to think. Each of his past forms came from a different century. They would have followed on after each other had he not placed on the seal which kept back 13th, 14th, 15th and the 16th centuries. His magic had worked to some degree until that bastard came along. He knew from the early 17th century if he recalled correctly. That meant the next one to appear would be from the 18th century and he had little doubt over which historical event he would be from.

The other two must have guessed this too because Francis was keeping his distance. He was refused to enter Arthur's room and busied himself with fussing over the knight and the phone calls instead. Arthur could hear him walk along the hallway and make loud exclamations in his native tongue whenever the stress came too much for him to bear.

At least he could do that. Arthur was confined to the bed with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. This was getting completely out of hand. After the 18th century breaks free, what would then happen? Arthur only had two centuries left in him before they reached the current times. That meant another two days before...

Arthur grinded his teeth together in anger. He had two days left and they were no closer to the damn cure! Lying here on the bed was not going to help! He should at least be given books that he could study and work through. Just because he was weak did not mean he was useless! Sod the bloody others! He would just have to do this himself!

His arms shook violently as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His vision blurred badly from the movement and made his stomach turn. Arthur kept his mouth firmly shut and the bile soon settled down. Taking a deep breath to prepare, Arthur slowly swung his legs around and off the mattress. All good so far, he thought as he grasped hold of the bedside table, now for the tricky part.

He eased himself up onto his feet and leant against the bedside table to keep his balance. The energy to move must have zapped him completely dry of his remaining strength for, with a heavy bang, he hit the ground merely seconds later and cried out in pain.

The bang must have echoed for everything went silent downstairs. Arthur could hear a door open. Shit. He did not want to be found on the floor like a helpless grandmother! He was a nation! He was a nation of strength and power! He refused to ever been seen this helpless and weak!

He gripped tightly onto the quilt and tried to heave himself up with both hands. The quilt, unknown to him, was creeping across the mattress. When he sat up, the whole quilt came off the bed and fell across Arthur. He yelled as he hit the ground again. His limbs were too sore to move again.

"What the bleedin' hell are you doing now?"

Arthur fought against the urge to close his eyes and play faint. He would have given anything to escape the humiliation of becoming this weakened form. But he didn't. Mastering up the last of his dignity, he glared up at his brother who stood over him with an eyebrow raised.

The sickening feeling was back. He barely managed to roll onto his side again before the vomit reached his mouth. The bin was tossed underneath his mouth in time. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again. Why did this have to happen to him? He was on good terms with all magical communities and was on stable terms with the nations that he knew held magic.

"Ya ill!" Scotland lectured as Arthur puked into the bin, "For once in ya measly life, act like it and stay in bed! Ya'll only kill yourself if you stay this damn stubborn!"

Ill? Scotland thought that he was only ill?! Ha! He knew this feeling. He had been through this before. It wasn't quite the same but it was there nonetheless. He had had a civil war! He experienced it then! This felt like nothing else could. This was the cold decaying hand of death gripping around his soul. If this continued then it could finally claim him after all these years...

He fell back onto the wooden floor with his breathing heavy and uneven. He still couldn't bring himself to talk so settled on raising his hand slowly and sticking up two fingers at the Scot in rude gesture.

Scotland ruffled his red hair in frustration before moving back the bin and picking up his younger brother. He placed England back into the bed and pulled the quilt over him. He then picked up a tissue from the side and dabbed at Arthur's mouth to clear away any remains of the vomit. Arthur's skin felt icy cold against his fingers.

Neither of the two had noticed the door opening behind them. A little face was poking out around the side and gazed over at them. He had been watching them since Scotland arrived. He wandered silently over to the bottom of the bed and began to scramble up under the quilt.

"The Knight is now eating," Scotland said in a tone that really meant 'he's not causing any trouble unlike someone else'. "France has been taking care of him. He'll be able to move around like normal soon."

That was some relief to him. At least his past forms held their immortality for now. But if France was right in saying it was coming from him then so was their immortality. Immortality would not last if he was divided up anymore. He raised his hand and moved it through the air. Scotland caught on and picked up the notebook on the side and placed a pencil in Arthur's hand.

Immortality. Divided. Won't last.

Scotland barely even looked at the words before sighing. "Yeah, I know."

Of course he did. Arthur rolled his eyes before scribble down one more word.

Pirate?

"Called up the Royal Guards. We've been checking in on them every hour for updates. Nothing has been said but with them on the lookout, the bastard won't get far. Got any ideas on where he may be heading?"

Arthur nodded. He had given that some sort too during his time alone. He scribbled down his next sentence and held the notebook out flat on his chest for Scotland to read.

Will need vessel. Sturdy. Powerful.

"We got the waters watched. I told them not to approach him. Any signs and they're to get me. I'll be the one to get him back."

The pirate would be back here by the end of the day at the latest then. That put Arthur at further ease. That pirate would be kept under lock and key and they would also have another pair of helping hands: though Arthur was not happy about having America involved in this.

He lifted up the book to write again. Cure. Magic. Something off.

"What do ya mean?" Scotland's eyebrows furrowed together. "This is a first for us both but I know magic when I see it."

Arthur shook his head and dropped the notebook. It didn't feel like magic. Their magic came from the nature's energy and this didn't feel like it. He just didn't know what it was exactly. But with two days left, he had better find out soon.

The quilt was tugged off his chest. He blinked in surprise and looked down at the bulge that was moving underneath. Curious, he lifted it up to see a small grubby pink face looking up at him. Little Arthur puffed out his cheeks and then wiggled over to Arthur's side and cuddled up against his chest.

Neither of the two older nations said a word as they watched him in silence. Arthur placed his arm over the child and closed his eyes. It felt nostalgic... and it made him smile for the first time that day.

-/-

Alfred had fallen asleep on the boat. He was out of flying saucers sweets and managed to drop his last one at the beach and it felt like a true sacrifice to make because he was so hungry. Hopefully this Sealand character would have plenty of food for him to eat.  
He wasn't even aware of the boat stopping until the jolt made him wake up startled. They had arrived at their destination so he cautiously made his way to the end of the vessel, only briefly noticing the steel pillars instead of a bottom of a ship. He and the pirate made their way up the ladder that was hanging down and onto the platform. Alfred yawned and rubbed his eyes. Texas had been tucked away neatly in the pocket of his jacket. The beard he had brought was tossed away ages ago because it was becoming too itchy to wear.

When he woke up some more, he noticed that they weren't on a ship but instead a fort. It was a tall steel fort in the middle of the ocean. They had came all this way here because of this? He didn't get it.

"Hi England! Hi America!"

Alfred blinked and looked over at a boy who was dressed in sailor gear. Those eyebrows meant that he had a connection to England. Oh! He remembered now! It was that boy that kept sneaking into meetings! Haha! So he was Sealand!

"Hi there!" America said warmly, forgetting all his troubles in that small moment. "Nice fort, dude!"

"Thanks!" Peter said proudly with a similar grin on his face. "Why are you both dressed up? Did you bring me an outfit too?"

"Nah, we were just –" What where they doing again? The Pirate had brought him here but he didn't know why. He looked around for Britain but the other had wandered off to explore the fort on his own. An idea suddenly hit him. "Hey, Sealand! Do you have a phone? I have to make a call."

"Yes!" Sealand was keen to show off all that he had. It wasn't much but he saved up to get all that he could. He rushed off into the office and returned with a phone for America. "We have great reception out here!"

Alfred sat down and quickly dialled out the number for Arthur's house. Maybe France would still be there. The phone rang a couple of times before someone answered. "Allo?"

"France!" Alfred said urgently, "It's me! I'm with Britain. Well, I think its Britain. It kinda is. I mean, he's not quite like himself but –"

"Amérique?! Where have you been?"

"I'm with Sealand! And Britain! Listen, he's not like himself. It was my fault. Almost. Kinda. A bit. It's mostly Toni's fault! I kinda started it – maybe – almost. I told him that I wanted to Britain to have more time to hang out and chill and Toni took it in the wrong sense. How would you explain what 'time' is? I was so confused and -"

"Amérique?! What is this? Toni? I don't under-"

"- and I had no idea that Britain was a pirate! That's pretty cool, I didn't know that he was actually fun before! Well, it's not that fun but it was back then! I always thought it was he was a boring fuck who did nothing!"

"Amérique! Merde! What is hap-"

"I bet he did nothing but drink tea in his cabin though. Do you think he made anyone walk the plank? Haha! That's a funny image, right?"

"Actually, that is a myth. We have far more torturous methods than a simple dip into the water..."

A cold chill ran down his spine as a shadow fell over him. He looked up and smiled innocently at the Pirate who was standing there and looking faintly amused.

"Hey dude! I was just talking about you –"

"It doesn't matter." The Pirate waved a hand to brush the event away and eyed the phone. "Place it down."

Alfred returned his attention back to the impatient Frenchman who was ranting down the phone at him. "Wow, calm down! Take a chill pill! Remember all that I said, kay?" He then hanged up before Francis could protest and handed the phone back to Sealand. "Thanks!"

"Enough with the friendly chatter," the Pirate said as he looked between the two. "I have explored this fort top to bottom and pleased to see that it has been kept in excellent condition considering minor damages. The defence is high and the offence outshines any war vessel. With this in mind, I have chosen to make this my vessel. Care to become my first mate in return?" he said casually to Sealand.

"You want to make a pirate ship out of my fort?" he said suspiciously.

"My dear boy, if you allow me to take charge of this fort once again... I'll sweeten the deal for you. In exchange, how does a full nation status sound?"

Peter's heart almost skipped a beat. He would become a full nation? He'll be able to join the world powers and become one of them? He wasted no time in nodding his head.

Alfred scratched the back of his head. The pirate having control of the fort was not a welcomed idea. "Hey, don't you think –"

"I have no time for you anymore," the Pirate cut across him with little patience. "You had helped me to get this far but your presence is no longer required."

The Pirate had taken out his gun and pointed it towards Alfred who took a step back closer to the edge. Out of all the times for him to be defenceless, why did it have to be now? He looked down at the dark waters beneath him and then back at the Pirate.

"I have been longing to do this ever since I first saw your face." The Pirate smiled darkly. "Goodbye, America."

Before anyone could react, the gun fired and Alfred's body fell back off the edge of the fort.

Sealand watched in alarm before looking back at the Pirate who blew the smoke away from his barrel.

"Man your stations!" the Pirate barked as he turned around to look at the few mortals. "We have a new heading!"


	13. Chapter 13

"Stupid America... Wanker... Immature brat... Why didn't he give up?! We could have gotten along so well! He shouldn't have grown up! We were so happy!"

Francis looked down at the sobbing man in disgust. Ever since he had arrived here, he had been having mood swings from yelling and demanding to see his former colony to curling up in the corner and crying over the times they had shared before. When he wasn't doing any of that, he was covering the living room floor with crumbled pieces of papers that would often begin with 'Dear big headed prick' and end with 'Just come home to me!' whilst being smeared with tears.

But at least he hadn't caused any serious trouble since he got here. Unless you counted that time when he first spotted Francis and tried to break his nose. Scotland had cut in before a full on fight happened and banged their heads so hard that Francis saw stars.

Now the French nation was supporting a headache and a bandaged nose.

"He would have remained my little brother!"

Pitiful. Francis rolled his eyes and decided it was best to just ignore him. Francis didn't even want to touch that mess who was hiccupping between the tears. He laid out the dinner plates on the table. He had spent the last hour slaving away in the kitchen to cook a meal that would have to feed four Englands, Scotland, and himself. Still, it had given him time to calm down and think over Alfred had been ranting on about down the phone.

He sighed and removed his hair-bobble to redo his ponytail that was beginning to come undone. Scotland had been moving between the basement and Arthur's bedroom and demanded the assistance of the knight. The child hadn't even come down to cling to him and Francis was starting to miss having him around. Merde, even the knight would have been better company than that idiot in the living room.

"Pull yourself together and help me dish up!" Francis said sharply to the red coat figure in the corner. "I can trust you to get out the knives and forks, oui?"

The Revolution!War Arthur turned around and gave Francis the darkest look he could master with his cheeks tear-stained. "Go to Hell..." he whispered in a voice that could summon the Devil.

Why had he expected any other response? Francis glared sharply at him, ignored the shiver that went down his spine, and resisted the urge to throw the spatula at him. He failed and it hit the England at the back of the head as Francis went past and headed up the stairs and ignored the threats and insults being called up after him.

France knocked on the door to Arthur's bedroom. A foul smell was emitting from it. Francis pinched his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. Just what were they all doing in there?

He didn't get any reply so invited himself into the room to find out what the source of the stench was. A large cauldron was resting in the middle of the room. Scattered around it were several herbs and ugly looking things that France didn't want to know. The Knight was knelt down beside the cauldron and stirred it while wearing an expression that told him he really didn't want to be there.

Scotland was sitting cross legged in-between the cauldron and the bed with a thick leather bound book sitting on his lap. He was muttering to himself and tossing ingredients into the cauldron. The child was still lying upon the bed with the original Arthur. None of them bothered to look up at him or even give any signs of acknowledging him.

Francis cleared his throat in a poor attempt to get their attention. None even battered an eyelid. Francis's patience was growing thin with the British nations. He slammed the door behind him and snapped in annoyance, "I am not going to be wasting my time here! You all get downstairs now and have dinner or you won't be getting anything later!"

"We'll eat it cold," Scotland muttered without looking up.

Francis wanted to cry. Did no one here except him have any respect to real food? It wasn't something that you could put into the microwave and heat up! All his hard work would be put to waste and he did not approve of wasting good food! Not only that but he was now being treated as a housemaid, cook, and babysitter with no respect being given to him for all the hard work!

He opened his mouth to argue back when Scotland suddenly closed the book with a loud bang and stood up.

"What are you doing?" The Frenchman asked in spite of himself.

"There's five Englands running around, all coming from one source. Their history has been shared out along with their immortality. It's fixed so one cannot have more than the other. Which means –"

"- their immorality is thinning out?" Francis finished off with a large lump hitting his stomach.

"Precisely."

"You don't mean that –"

Scotland knelt down beside the cauldron and poured the foul smelling mixture into a flask. "I mean they're becoming more mortal like with each new comer." He raised a finger and pointed at the Knight who flinched. "Take a look at his scar."

"Hmm?" Francis knelt down beside the knight who leant back his head so show an ugly fresh scar on his neck from where the pirate had slashed through. Nations healed at an extreme rate and a wound like that would have appeared to be nothing more than a thin fading scar but this one looked so fresh that Francis half expected it would open again. It made him feel sick to look at it.

Francis finally looked at the corpse like figure on the bed that his instincts had tried to prevent happen. The original Arthur had not been responding to anything and barely had a heartbeat left within him since the last split. Francis then spotted the child who was clinging to Arthur's chest with a tearful gaze but was stubbornly refusing to cry. Francis swallowed the lump in his throat but was unable to go over to comfort the child with the two nations and equipment blocking his path on the floor.

"Will he make it?" Francis attempted to sound less concerned than he really was. It was difficult not to feel close to someone who you have been stuck next to for a thousand years and, though he didn't want to admit it; France would be terribly upset if something happened to England.

"Ya can bet on it." Scotland took the flask over to the bed and poured out a small amount. Francis was surprised to see that, despite its smell, it was of a golden colour. Scotland poured a small mouthful of it into Arthur's open mouth and rubbed the Englishman's throat so he swallowed it.

The Scot waited but nothing happened. This appeared to have been a good thing for there was a faint trace of a smile on his lips. He sealed the flask and placed it on the bedside table. "That will keep him going until we can get to America."

"We're going to America? You believe what he said? But it's ridiculous!" In all honesty, a small voice at the back of Francis' mind said, the whole week had been nothing but one ridiculous and unbelievable thing after another. Firstly it was mention of all this magic and now he was being told about advanced alien technology? How he longed for the time where everything made sense to him.

"England and I both know that it's not any normal magic that caused this. Therefore, it has to be something out of our league and if that means in believing its coming from a force off this planet then so be it."

It was amazing how sudden people could alter their lifetime worth of beliefs when death was creeping in on them or someone close to them. Francis was no stranger to that and would pray to any god from any religion if he thought he was going to die. It was a 'better safe than sorry' practice he had grown up to have.

"Give him a mouthful of that every half an hour," Scotland instructed him. "Don't you dare forget to and don't be a minute late about it."

"Are you now leaving?"

"Aye. I'm gonna get the last two pieces we need to fix this."

Francis sighed. "Bien, those stuffy guards have been waiting outside for you for the last forty minutes! I cannot stand to see the sight of them any longer!"

"Tough cause they'll be with us for a while." Scotland headed downstairs with Francis following behind him. "They'll be taking us straight to America's when we get back so be ready to leave when I get back 'cause I'm not waiting around for ya."

Patient as always, Francis thought bitterly, had everyone forgotten about his assistance on the first few days of this madness? He shook his head and held a hand to his forehead that was still aching. "But what about dinner?"

"Had a whiskey not so long ago."

"That doesn't count as a meal!"

Scotland smirked as he pulled on his coat and opened the backdoor. "Don't die," he added as he closed the door and walked off.

Francis stared at the backdoor and stamped his foot in frustration. Damn those British brothers! "I want payment for all of this!" he yelled at the door. A Frenchman was not made to do all this work for no pay!

-/-

His sleeve was soaked with blood. It mixed unpleasantly with the sea water that continued to splash ruthlessly against him. The salt seeped under the clothing and into the wound and made the pain almost unbearable. Had he been human, he would have passed out and drowned by now but being a nation meant that he just grinded his teeth together and dealt with it.  
He spat out a mouthful of salt water and licked his lips but instantly regretted it when he tasted the saltiness. That pirate had highly underestimated him if he thought he would go down from only one shot. He was a nation. He was the United States of America! No mere gun would be enough to keep him down!

Reflexes had saved him from a far worst injury. Using the knowledge he gained by watching many of his action movies and the countless amount of experience he had had in the past, America had timed himself to perfection. When the pirate fired at him, the nation fell back so the bullet only gazed his arm and he hit the water with a huge splash. He recovered fast enough to swim over to one of the fort pillars and clung on for dear life.

"Fucker!" Alfred snapped as he glared up at the fort above. He'll give the pirate major payback for that! But he would need to get up there first...

Keeping himself against the pillar so the current couldn't drift him away, Alfred tugged off his jacket and then his shirt. He didn't even bother to check the injury for his urge to punch the pirate in the face overcame any pain.

He tied a sleeve of the jacket to the sleeve of the shirt. The dress-up shop owner did inform him that this was one of the best materials and now it was time to put that to the test. He removed Texas from the pocket and placed his glasses back onto his face then he tossed the improvised rope around the pillar and tightly grasped hold of both ends. He pressed his foot against the pillar and slowly began to heave himself up.

Man, the pirate was going to get his arse kicked big time!

But he barely managed a few feet up when the fort began to move. He lost his balance and slipped down into the water but kept a firm hold of the clothed rope. He glared angrily at the fort above him.

Gritting his teeth together again, Alfred made his second attempt up the pillar. His shoes were not made to have a good grip and several times he slipped.

He angrily kicked at the pillar, yelping when he hit his toes, and shook off as much water from the shoes as he could. The waves were still hitting into him and the speed of the fort was putting him at risk of falling back from the high wind.

His anger faded away to give way to a growing smile. A hero never gave up! No matter what the odds were against him! He'll defeat the villain and save the victim! With this new found confidence building inside, Alfred began another attempt up the pillar.


	14. Chapter 14

The sunset over the ocean was one of the sights that the Pirate would never forget. He admired the water as much as he had feared it. It was a cruel and harsh mistress that could not be tamed. It had both saved him and doomed him on numerous accounts. And each time he would craved even more of it the precious freedom it granted him.

Freedom from the slavery he was forced to endure of being a nation. Freedom from the pain of knowing he could never love another like he did her. Freedom to be himself at complete ease and never wonder about the growing amount of wars he had to face. It was his saviour. He wanted nothing more than to be left on the waters for the rest of his life.

"Captain England?"

"Kirkland, my dear boy, Kirkland. I was never one for the nation status..."

Sealand decided against making sense of that. "We're heading for a straight line to Spain. We should be there in five hours."

"Perfect."

Peter stood there beside him and gazed out across the ocean. Neither of them spoke as they admired the sights around them. The only sounds were of the ocean lapping against the sides of the fort and the grunts of the men at work behind them. This was something that no amount of money or power could ever change. It was a blessing to be able to be surrounded by this and nothing felt richer just then.

The peace didn't last.

Moving from the horizon, appearing like dots at first, several helicopters appeared. It didn't take a genius to know where they were heading. Sealand's eyes grew wide as he gazed up at the pirate who merely smiled at the sight. This was not part of the deal. Sealand did not want any of the pirate's friends on here since it was his fort and, at the same time, did not want any trouble that would delay his chances of full nation status.

"Peter, be a dear and launch a missile at them," the Pirate said in a light tone without even looking away.

"What?!"

There were a lot of things Peter would be willing to do in order to gain full membership to be a nation but starting a battle with the UK was not one of them, regardless of who told him to do it. There were mortals in those helicopters and he was not going to bring about his own end because of England's orders.

"Peter, I do not like asking twice," the Pirate said sternly. "Aim for the front one and it should spread its remains onto the others."

Sealand looked behind him to his men who were frozen and at a lost on what to do. None of them were willing to do what the pirate asked and since he was not their boss... They shook their heads and folded their arms over his chest. His people gave Sealand the confidence to do the same.

"No," Peter said coolly. "We're not listening to you anymore."

The pirate turned around and stared down at the boy with a murderous look in his eyes. "Is this a mutiny?" he whispered in a harsh voice. "Do you know what happens to mutineers on board my vessel?!"

Peter flinched and stepped back as the pirate took a few steps towards him with his voice raising. He was spared whatever ruthless punishment the pirate had in store for him when a loud voice shouted across the skies by microphone.

"Keep away from the wee lad!"

The pirate placed a hand over his hat to stop is blowing off when the helicopters got closer. He cursed under his breath and moved back as the vehicle descended down.

A figure leapt out of the helicopter and landed smartly onto the fort. The men looked relieved and Sealand darted over to where his back up was. All these people against England... Sealand was highly looking forward to see this battle.

The Pirate placed his hand into his pocket and grasped tightly onto the device inside as he stood face to face with his older brother: the one that he felt the most hatred towards for beginning about the end of his time. He forced an unpleasant smile. "How foolish of you to come after me with nothing to defend yourself with..."

Scotland grunted and flicked out the cigarette from his mouth. "Who said I'm unarmed?"

"Come now, you know as well as I do that you can do nothing to harm me without harming the other..." The Pirate laughed. "I fought back against that seal! I knew what the risks were! I studied the powers before making my move."

"Then ya should know you got to come back with me," Scotland said impatiently. "Before I make ya."

"Make me? You and what navy? Oh right, you can't defeat me unless you have them to back you up!" The Pirate said in a sickly sweet tone. "If only they were here now to save your skin..."

Scotland stood upon the crushed cigarette and pulled his gloves further down his wrists before cracking one fist into the palm of his hand. "Why don't ya come here and we'll settle it one on one?"

Only a fool would start a fistfight with someone who threw cabers for fun and the Pirate was certainly not a fool. He stepped back again so he was only a metre away from the edge and then removed his hand from his pocket just as Scotland advanced towards him. The pirate held it up with his finger lingering on the button.

"Careful now... You wouldn't want me to set this off..."

Scotland stopped and growled angrily as he narrowed his eyes.

The anger coming off the other made the Pirate feel very smug. He tilted his head slightly to the side and said in a taunting tone, "You see, I planned for this to happen and planted various explosives around the fort. If you lay just one finger on me, I'll blow this place to pieces! What's the matter? Can't sacrifice one useless fort for the brother who caused you so much hell?"

"Ya cowardly bastard!"

"Tell me something new, please ~" The Pirate smirked.

Unknown to him, Alfred had managed to climb up the side of the fort and had been lingering on the edge of it for wait for the perfect moment to strike. With the pirate now close enough and clearly distracted, Alfred seized the chance and pulled himself up before roughly tackling the pirate down on the platform. The device went flying out across the air.

Sealand dived down onto the steel ground and caught it. He and the men breathed in relief before looking over at the violent fight that had broken out. Blood was spilt and bones were cracked in only a few seconds of the fight beginning.

The Pirate wasn't easy to hold down, Alfred soon found out. He would bite, punch, and use every dirty trick he could to break away. He striked for the wound on Alfred's arm and kick him viciously in the groin with those heeled boots. Alfred was almost deafened by the insults but he did not stop wrestling with the other as they rolled across the fort. The others moved out of their way, refusing to get involved with the two pissed off nations.

"BRITANNIA KICK!"

Alfred found himself flung off the pirate. He rolled across the platform and barely grasped hold of the side in time before he dropped down over the edge. Fuck, he swore as he tried to heave himself back up. He swung up his damaged arm till his hands were able to grasp on firmly. That fucker... he cursed as he tried to swing a leg up.

The Pirate had noticed the struggle and smirked once more. He stood up and wiped the blood away from his mouth before he approached America and looked down at him in a scornful manner.

The heel of his boot dug into Alfred's fingers until the American was forced to remove them to avoid losing them. The pirate's expression changed to one of great smugness. "You pitiful excuse of a country," he sneered as he ruthlessly stamped down on Alfred's other hand. "Why don't you do the world a favour and stay under the waves?"

"Sure..." Alfred replied with his own smirk forming. "But only if you join me!" Using his upper body strength, he heaved himself up high enough to grasp hold of the pirate's ankle.

The pirate's eyes widened in alarm at once. "What?! No! No, you fool!" The pirate yelled as Alfred tugged hard and brought the pirate down over the edge with him. The guards and nations dashed over to the edge in time to see them both hit the water with a huge splash.

Alfred released his grip and began to swim up to the surface. He held his breath and soon saw streaks of the sunset breaking through the waters but he didn't get far when an arm suddenly snared itself around his neck. The fucker was still trying to end him? Alfred was having none of that! He elbowed the pirate sharply in the stomach until the other let go and then quickly ascended back to the surface.

He broke through and swallowed a hungry gasp of air. With the sea water in his eyes, and the distance fallen, he could just make out a few blurred faces peering over the edge of the fort.

"I'm all right!" he yelled up to them as he waved his good arm wildly in the air. "Toss down a ladder or something, kay?"

"YA DAMN TOSSER! WHERE IS THE PIRATE?!"

Alfred blinked and wiped some of the water from his face before looking around. There were no signs of the pirate emerging from below. What was he doing down there? Surely Britain knew how to swim right?

"Maybe he's fishing?" Alfred answered cheekily only to have something hard hit him on top of the head from above. "Ow! What was that –"

"YA BLEEDIN' NUMPTY! HE CAN'T SWIM! GET HIM OUT NOW OR I'LL –"

Alfred didn't bother to listen to what painfully sick and twisted tortures the Scot would put him through. He was already diving back under the water. He placed Texas back onto his face to help improve his vision and scanned the murky water around him.

How was he meant to know that Britain couldn't swim? Yes, he knew the nation for most of his life but he was hardly in a situation where they would need to swim. Maybe the pirate hadn't been trying to suffocate him earlier. Damn it, what kind of person pushes away a drowning person?! Certainly not a hero... He had messed up again.

A hat drifted in front of him. It was large and feathered. Alfred swam down further from where it was drifting from. Bubbles were forming in front of his face but he could do without air for a few extra minutes.

Finally, there in the dark where little light could reach, he could barely make out a form of a body. Alfred swam down and linked an arm around the pirate's waist. The other wasn't moving. He didn't fight back or held out. Alfred began to panic but forced himself to remain calm as he carried the pirate up to the surface.

Drowning wouldn't end a nation, he told himself mentally, so he couldn't possibly get in trouble for this. Britain wouldn't die from this. Not a chance.

They broke through to the surface for a second time that day. Alfred frantically waved his free arm around and watched as they finished lowering the ladder down to their level.

He grasped hold of one of the rings and placed the pirate over his shoulder. Britain felt like a dead weight and there was no gasps of air coming from him either. Alfred gritted his teeth and quickly began to climb up the ladder. "HURRY!" he yelled up at them, "HE'S NOT BREATHING!"

-/-

Francis was growing bored. He had given Arthur a dose of the mixture and made sure the other three had eaten dinner. Now he had nothing to do but remain watch over Arthur and, quite frankly, he was getting restless. What he wouldn't do for a glass – no – a bottle of wine just then! In a bubble bath that held his favourite fragrance and soft music playing from the radio...

"Be careful with the powdered root!" the Knight said as he reached out and caught hold of the child's wrist. "You shouldn't add it right after the blood! You don't know what it could do!"

"I thought that you didn't know anything about this 'dark art' stuff?" Francis said smugly as he snapped out of his fantasy to gaze upon the younger two. The usual Arthur wasn't around to torment so he would have to put up with this one. "The good stuff got dull or did you realise it wasn't working?"

"Listen here, you bloody toad!" the Knight snapped back, "Magic isn't something that you can play around with! It has to be taken seriously or you'll risk-"

Francis yawned loudly to drown out the rant. This further annoyed the Knight who stood up and placed his hand on the handle of his sword. "Pick your weapon, you pox-ridden arse!"

The child looked up excitedly. Francis eyed the sword and decided it was probably best not to torment any of the Arthurs – they were still capable of throwing violent tantrums and he only had a gun which he foolishly left downstairs after dinner.

A loud bang from the cauldron broke up the fight before it could happen and smoke filled the room. They all jumped in alarm and waved their hands in front of their faces to move the smoke away. The child began to cry. His hand had been over the pot when he dropped in the root by accident and it was now covered in nasty green boils.

"You see what you done?!" The Knight and France shouted at each other in accusation.

"MOI/ME?! It was you!"

The two glared at each other before dropping down beside the sobbing child to fuss over the injury. But the child shook his head and held his hand close to his chest so neither of them could examine it.

"Come to me, mon lapin!"

"Don't! He knows nothing about magical injuries!"

"Excuse-moi?!"

Somehow, the two older ones were still able to bicker with each other whilst trying to encourage the child to let them and not the other look at the injury until the bedroom door slammed open and a highly irritable Arthur with a red coat stood there in the doorway with his gun pointing towards them. After taking in the scene in front of them, he lowered his gun and frowned.

He walked over and picked up the crying child into his arms and rubbed his back in a soothing manner. The child's cries began to die down.

"Clean up this mess!" The Revolution!War Arthur ordered to the Knight. "You should have known better than to let a child play around with the leftovers of a potion! Have you grown thick?! And you!" his glared rounded onto Francis who flinched. "If you so much as mutter a word I shall throw you out of this window head first!"

Francis frowned but the latest Arthur had stormed out to tend to the child. Francis stuck out his tongue as the door slammed closed and then went back to sit on the bed. Maybe having a child to fuss over would keep the War Arthur sane – or as sane as he ever was.

"Honestly, Angleterre," Francis spoke to the sleeping Arthur. "You should have never grown up."

The Knight was about to fling a handful of soggy muck from the bottom of the cauldron when the sleeping Arthur suddenly began to cough. Not just cough, but spray water over the surprised Francis and gasp heavily for air.

The two acted quickly. Francis pulled Arthur up into sitting position and striked him firmly on the back to clear his lungs. It changed nothing and Arthur's hands were tensed over the blanket. Water was still being sprayed across the quilt by a unpleasant mix of coughing and throwing up.

"Breath!" Francis panicked as he kept hitting him. "Breath!"

Arthur's gasps were steadily growing weaker and his body were slouching down against France as it lost the energy to remain still.

"Call L'Ecosse!" he ordered to the Knight who stood there feeling the hell was happening? He had no warning of this! How could you save something who appeared to be drowning but wasn't?! The Knight picked up the phone left on top of the drawers and nervously fidgeted with the mobile phone.

"Call! Now! Hurry!"


	15. Chapter 15

"It was my genius plan to use those spaceship candies to leave a trail. Shame you didn't see it. Maybe I should have – Hey that was a pretty cool thing I did though, yeah? Not everyone would have done that. He was a one hell of a fucking asshole."

Alfred's rants went ignored even by the human who had taken out the first aid box and was tending to his bullet wound. The American wasn't even aware of the lack of attention he was getting for he, unlike everyone else onboard, was at a complete lost to the seriousness of what was going on. Alfred had to tell his story because it felt important to him to explain how he saved England's people from getting harmed by the pirate: the pirate that currently unconscious and not breathing.

"Stay with me, ya bastard!" Scotland yelled as he pressed his hands firmly against the pirate's chest. "Ya going to let a brat like him be the end of ya?! Don't make me sick! Breath, dammit, breath!"

Everyone had stepped back to give the Brits room. Sealand was vaguely aware that they had come to a stop and was resting somewhere in the English Channel. It was only water surrounding them now and the only sounds they could hear were the howling of the wind, the waves crashing against the fort's pillars, and the Scot's angry yells.

"Oi, what's going on?" Alfred asked when he finally noticed the uneasy silence around them. "Relax! He's going to wake up soon enough. It's not like he can die to anythi-"

"SHUT UP!"

Alfred almost jumped at the sudden harsh shout aimed at him. He looked over at the red-head and, for one of the few times in his life, did as he was told and fell silent. Britain, he thought, was funny when he was angry but his brother made him feel rather intimidated. No wonder everyone was cautious around him. He barely remembered a lot from his past as a British colony but he remembered enough.

The tension broke by a mobile phone ringing out. Scotland ordered Peter over to fish it out of his pockets and put it on loud speaker. Sealand did as requested and held it against the Scot's ear.

"Hello?"

"L'Ecosse?! Angleterre! He is –"

"I know, ya pillock! Are ya giving him CPR?"

"Non..." came the meek reply.

"GET TO IT THEN!" Scotland yelled, deafening those on board as well as the unfortunate Frenchman at the receiving end. "Together we can pull him through! But ya have to get off ya bleedin' arse and move!"

There was the sound of movement on the other end of the phone. France's voice faded but was still loud enough to be heard. "Ready, mon ami."

"Steady beat, ya cunt." Scotland hadn't stopped from his own movements. He was perfectly able to keep it up for the rest of the night if he had to. He wasn't going to let a damn drowning cause the end of his bullying bastard of a little brother. Not when he still had centuries to give payback for!

Alfred had scrambled over. He was still shirtless and his glasses were off balance but neither of these things bothered him. Realisation had finally hit him and he was beginning to share in the fear that everyone was feeling. His face went pale and he began to feel completely helpless.

"Breath... breath!" Scotland hissed as he hammered down hard on the pirate's motionless chest. With Francis on the other end doing the same to the original, it should only be another few minutes before Arthur and the pirate woke. If they weren't too late that is. He prayed to the pagan gods that they weren't too late.

They weren't.

Water was sprayed up into the Scot's face as the pirate's lungs cleared enough for air to get in. He pushed Scotland back and then turned onto his front, heavily breathing, and threw up the rest of the sea water that remained inside. His body was shaking from both the trauma of drowning and the cold wind against his soaked body.

Everyone let out a breath of relief. Scotland picked up the phone and held it against his ear. "All well here."

"Oui, same here."

"We'll be picking you all up in an hour or so. Make sure everyone is ready to go and pack some food. Don't forget the bloomin' potion either."

He hanged up the phone and tucked it back into his jacket. He would need a pick me up: a major pick me up. Maybe a whole bottle of whiskey? He made a mental note to call up Northern Ireland to get completely sloshed together. England could pay for the drinks and any damage they caused for he owed him big time for this.

Scotland ran a hand through his thick red hair and then stood up. "Buckle him up and throw him in the copter, lads," he ordered to the few humans that were around. "America, get ya arse in there before I change me mind and throw ya back over the side to swim the rest of the way."

The Pirate was roughly pulled up to his feet and a pair of handcuffs was clamped down on his wrists. His body was too sore to fight back and scream out constant insults at them all. He felt nauseous and exhausted. He had lost his damn hat too!

With men on both of his sides, he was half carried and half dragged over to the vehicle and roughly throw in. He cursed and tried to kick out at them but was held down long enough to get the belt over him. "DON'T THINK THAT CHANGES NOTHING!" he yelled out in a cracked voice, "I'll –" he was silenced by his own violent coughing fit that ached his throat.

America was smiling weakly as he lingered back. With Scotland now calm, he approached and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey, man. I totally didn't to cause all that shit. Fuck, if I knew then –"

Scotland looked over at him blankly and then smacked the back of the youth's head. "Get in the damn helicopter. We haven't got time for this."

Pleased to avoid such a sickeningly sweet moment, Alfred nodded and jumped into the front seat of the helicopter. Scotland joined them after lighting a quick cigarette to ease his own beating heart. This will all be over in a day. Just one more day of this sheer torment and then England will be all on his own. He could only act the role of a caring older brother for a short amount of time.

Sealand watched the helicopter lift off and join its brothers that were lingering in the air. That had been quite an adventure but what was he meant to do now? The nations had taken no notice of him and not even invited him along.

"Orders, sir?"

"Let's go back home," Peter said as he watched the helicopters turn into nothing more than little lights in the dark sky. "We'll get home to remove the explosives and then go to bed."

It wasn't until they arrived back at their usual position in the North Sea did he realised he had been cheated out of getting the nation status but, with the happiness of having his fort for himself again and the threat of the bombs gone, Sealand found that he didn't mind so much. After all, he thought to himself, there were many chances left in the future.

-/-

France was cradling the child in his arms. Little Arthur was trying not to cry but his face was white with fright and his hand was clung onto Francis' shirt. For a frightening moment there, he refused to speak of at the time, the child and the knight and the red coated England had appeared transparent. They were possibly unaware of this because none of them made comment about it but, to France, it had been a terrifying sight. It was almost like being surrounded by ghosts. No, not almost, he told himself, it was exactly like that. In that brief time, they were nothing more than ghosts...  
"We have little over a day left to fix this and there's still another chance of a possible era escaping before then," the Knight explained in attempt to breaking the uneasy tension and failing badly. "We should get to work. Did Scotland mention about bringing any supplies?" He looked down at the cauldron that still needed cleaning.

"Non," Francis mumbled against the child's hair. "Only the potion."

The Knight nodded and picked it up. "What is his plan? He mentioned nothing to me." There was an impatient tone in his voice. "I do not like to be left out if so."

Francis rolled his eyes. He ranted on in his native tongue to get the others off his back. He knew just as much as they did and the only hint he had was that America had something to do with this. He should have known that foolish boy would one day cause a huge mess like this! His naive ways would always cause trouble! As expected of a child!

"Stop talking crap!" The Revolution!War snarled, "Get to the damn point!"

The child raised his head to look up at Francis. His hands were covered in bandages and smelt better than before. The fear of almost losing a part of them though had driven the pain out of his mind.

Francis stroked his hair soothingly and then looked over at the sleeping nation in the bed. "We need to get ourselves ready for departure. Everyone is to find warm clothing and grab something to eat now. You can sleep on the aeroplane or helicopter..." He guessed that was how Scotland planned to get there. "Find all your equipment and I'll keep the potion with me. When they get here, we'll carry Angleterre outside."

The different past versions of England all nodded and left. The child was picked up by the Knight and they left France alone with the sick England in bed. Francis sighed and ran his hands through his golden locks. It was all taking a toll on his looks, he knew that, and stress was something that he preferred to avoid at all costs. What was the point of getting worked up and worried when he could relax and look his best?

He dropped his hand to Arthur's and pressed his fingers against against his waist. The beat of the heart was still there but it was so faint... Would it be wise to leave him alone for just a few seconds so he could get himself tidied up? He saw no harm in doing so. Arthur looked like he was sleeping right now so unless he got any nightmares...

Francis decided to take the risk and stood up. He stepped over the mess left behind and headed for the bathroom. He dared not look at his reflection and washed the best he could in the short time he had. When he got home, he was going to demand a whole week off and relax. A whole week by himself with a few lady friends. No Arthur. No England. Not even...

He blinked and placed his fingers onto his cheeks. A tear was rolling down from his eye. He caught the tear and held out his fingers. He was crying? Hee... Francis smiled softly to himself. He was going to miss that child.

"France..."

Speaking of which.

Francis turned and smiled at the little figure in the doorway. The child was standing there rubbing his tired eyes. His bow and arrows were strapped into place. "Oui?" The Frenchman knelt down in front of him and smiled warmly. "You want to have a nap?"

The child shook his head and yawned. He reached out his hands and Francis picked him up. "I don't wanna leave..." he mumbled as he held onto Francis' shirt. "I wanna stay..."

"Mon ami, you must go," Francis said gently as he carried the child over to the sink to wash those grubby cheeks again. "You won't be going far. Just... show yourself more often. You're the cutest part of Angleterre." And England should show his cuter side a lot more often rather than that mean grumpy old man side he had on display all the time.

The child didn't say anymore as he hissed and tried to push the flannel away from his face in disgust.

But he wasn't the only one having second thoughts on the matter. Downstairs, the Knight and Revolution!War Arthur were standing around. The Knight had his armour back on and was awkwardly trying to sit down on the sofa while the Revolution!War stood by the window and stared out of it. His hand had stayed onto his gun since the former colony had been mentioned.

The Knight had noticed that longing stare in his eyes and hesitated to say anything. This wasn't going to be as peaceful as he had hoped...


	16. Chapter 16

His little nose was pressed against the glass. The tiredness from earlier was gone in light of the child's curiousity. The modern night life was very different from his time. Now, there were lights on every street and neon signs flashing from the nightclubs. When they hit this area, Francis pulled the child away from the window and advised him to look at the car instead.

He and the child were sitting in front passenger seat. Francis was having a hard time trying to keep the child still and knew they would be in trouble if any of the police officers spotted him not strapped in properly. England had very strict laws for the road but Francis was fussing over nothing. He doubted that the driver would even pull over even if an officer told him to.

Sitting at the back were the other three Englands. The knight was looking highly uncomfortable since the modern Arthur was still out cold and drooling on his shoulder. But he didn't have it in him to shove him away, especially since the Revolutionary!War England was still holding his gun and growing tenser still with every mile they got closer to the airport.

"Mon lapin, sit down and behave yourself!" Francis stressed as he wrapped his arms firmly around the child's middle to keep him from moving again. "There is nothing out there for you to see!"

"I want to look!" Little Arthur said firmly as he squirmed around on Francis' lap. "Let me see! My land! Mine!"

"Mon dieu, you are too young to be looking at those hookers!" Francis suddenly jerked forward after his words when his seat was kicked. He turned and glared sharply at the Revolutionary!War Arthur who was sitting behind him. The tension thickened in the car and one of the two still had a gun in his hand.

The Knight frowned and spoke up before any insults could be exchanged. "Enough!" he said sharply. "They are still our people and I will not stand to hear you insult them," he warned Francis. "Likewise, we should not be picking fights with those who have been trying to help us," he added to Revolutionary!War Arthur who only snorted and looked back out of the window.

"Trying?!" Francis replied in an insulted tone. "I have done nothing but -"

His voice was drowned out by the loud music that suddenly filled the car. The child had found the radio and was turning all the dials and pressing all the buttons. The sounds switched from rock music to a news-reporter to a play and then back to another news-reporter. The driver placed a hand over the radio to block the dials and buttons. "Excuse me, Sir, I would appreciate it if you did not do that."

The child blinked and flushed at being referred to as 'sir'. Because of that, he moved his hands back onto his lap and remained silent and still for the rest of the trip until the airport came into view. A passage had already been made for them and the driver took them down to a private section. Through the tainted windows they spied a group already standing there. There was no doubt who they were...

Before the car could come to a complete stop, one of the back passenger doors was opened. The Revolutionary!War Arthur had escaped from the car and taken aim. No one had time to react when the sound of gunfire echoed across the tarmac. The bullet barely avoided Alfred's arm and hit side of the motionless helicopter.

"Stop him!" Francis shrieked as he clung onto the child and dived down in his seat ("STUPID FROG, YOU ARE CRUSHING ME!"). The Knight was left to struggle with his seat-belt and the weight of Arthur crushing against him.

Alfred was the first to move into action. He pulled out a gun he had been given and took aim. His bullet hit the ground just before the Revolutionary!War Arthur's feet.

Scotland sprinted over and tackled the red coat to the ground as the England prepared his gun for another shot. The two rolled upon the ground and attempted to wrestle the weapon out of each other's hands.

"He looks happy to see you..." the Pirate said in amusement as he remained beside Alfred. "It must be your face - it makes people want to shot you."

Alfred gave him a dark look before running over to help Scotland. Together they managed to get the weapon away and pin the England down onto the tarmac. By now, the Knight had finally managed to break free of his seat-belt and rushed over to assist the red haired nation too.

"GET OFF ME YOU TRAITOROUS BASTARD!" Revolutionary!War England screamed with his words aimed at only one nation. "I'LL SEE YOU HANG! YOU'LL ROT IN JAIL UNTIL YOU BEG FOR FORGIVENESS!"

He was cut off by a gloved hand clamping down on his mouth. Slowly, the struggles ceased enough for Scotland to move off and pull him up to his feet. "Get in the bleedin' aeroplane before I throw you to America myself!" Scotland gripped hold of the coat and dragged the England towards the small plane that was waiting upon them a short distance away. When he noticed the smug expression of the Pirate, he grabbed him too and pulled them both over to the plane.

The Knight sighed. He knew something would happen when America came into sight but he wasn't expecting the gun to be used. Neither of the two had hit each other but whether that was one purpose or not he couldn't tell.

"Hey, you're even shorter than Britain!"

"... I am Sir Arthur." The Knight frowned at the American who was trying to measure his height to the height of the usual England. "and I would greatly appreciate it if you were to stop waving your hand around near me."

America laughed and rested the ancient gun on his shoulder. "Sir? You were a knight? Haha! Just how old are you, old man?"

Old man?! He was only just over a thousand years old! He was a baby compared to some nations! "I acquire your assistance with moving England from the car. He hasn't woken since the near death experience."

"Sure." America gave the Knight the gun and ducked into the car. He pulled England out, not too gentle, and slung him over his shoulder. "Let's go! I want to get a window seat!"

Sir Arthur was left to protest the treatment of England but it all fell onto deaf ears. America carried England onto the plane with the Knight cautiously following after him. If England wasn't going to kill him back then, he would now. Did this idiot have no concept on how to look after a sick person?

The pirate was stuck sitting by the window next to Scotland who was threatening to handcuff him there if he tried anything funny. The pirate stated that he was rather interested in visiting the United States after all this time which only made Scotland suspicious and annoyed. There was nothing that could be trusted that came out of the pirate's mouth.

Pleased to see that the Revolutionary!War England was no where to be seen, America placed England down onto a seat and strapped him in. He picked up the feet and rested them on the chair beside so England was in the best laying down position he could manage. The Knight settled down close by to keep watch.

"Merci for leaving us behind!" Francis said angrily as he stormed onto the plane with the child in his arms. His nose was turned towards the air in sign that he was now going to ignore them all for the rest of the trip. No one seemed to mind this at all. The child blinked up at Francis and then promptly tried to copy this action until their path was blocked by the American.

"This is Britain as a kid? Haha, he even had big brows back then!" Alfred grinned as he poked the child's forehead - and instantly regretted it when teeth sank into his flesh. "OW OW OW OW OW !" He pulled his hand away and pouted. Yeah, that was Britain. "That's so not cute."

Francis did nothing to hide his smile and strapped the child down into his seat. "He does not like 'new' people," he explained as Little Arthur stuck his tongue out at Alfred. "You best leave him be before you get an arrow in your forehead."

Not planning on getting a wound from every England on his plane, America moved on to settle down in his own chair and stretched out his legs to cover all the seats. Now to rest back and hope that the rest of the trip would be a piece of cake!

-/-

Three hours into the flight and everyone was getting restless. The child had ran up and down the aisle and tried to sneak into the cabin. France had a huge panic when the child went missing and made everyone get up and look around for him. It turned out the rascal had crept into the overhead compartments. That was the most amusing part of the journey.

The pirate had grown just as restless and highly bored. He had done what was told of him and remained seated and silent but the need to cause trouble was stirring inside him again. Well, he wasn't planning on staying here any longer. He stood up and was about to move pass the seats when Scotland stuck out his legs and rested his feet on the back of the chair in front so the Pirate was trapped in.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Deep breath... "What harm can I possibly do when stuck on this plane?" The pirate said coolly. "If I tried to escape, I'll get myself killed. That would be the complete opposite of what I want, correct?"

"..." Scotland frowned and reluctantly moved his legs down so the pirate could walk across. "If I see ya screwing around..."

The pirate rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I get the idea." He walked off away from Scotland and towards the cabin. He wouldn't be allowed inside but he was keen to stretch his legs. Plus, he had some trouble to cause. Did Scotland honestly believed Captain Arthur Kirkland would behave himself and be a good boy? He laughed at that thought and headed into the toilet to start his planning.

Only he didn't expect to see another red coat crouched down and sobbing there. The pirate gave him a look of disgust (he turned into that?) and was about to leave when he heard the depressed mutterings.

"S-sorry America... I d-didn't mean to. Just c-come h-h-home..."

The Pirate smiled. A plan flashed in his mind instantly. This was going to be fun. He knelt down beside Revolutionary!War and patted his back in a gentle motion. "You still beat up over trying to shot him earlier?"

A glare was his reply but he didn't let that stop him. The Pirate stubbornly stuck to his new plan. "It's a shame really... You came all this way and you shot him. Instincts though, nothing more. If only you were able to have more time with him to correct what went wrong."

Revolutionary!War rubbed his eyes on his sleeve and glared at him again. "What are you getting at? Fuck off and leave me alone!"

The Pirate placed a hand over his chest. "I only mean to help you recover from this. I may not like others but I love myself. It does me no good to have you like this."

"Go away," Revolutionary!War hissed.

"Now, now." The Pirate said smoothly, "Let me help you. You want to spend more time with him, don't you? There's a very simple way of letting that hap-"

"What do you care?! You never been betrayed like this! You know nothing!" Revolutionary!War screamed at him. "You know nothing about my feelings! You're a twisted sick bastard!"

The Pirate's expression faltered for a moment before turning into an angry scowl. "What do I know? What do I know?!" The back of Revolutionary!War England's head hit the wall with a sickening crunch. The pirate's fingers tightened around the neck and he ignored the desperate struggle for freedom as he leant in with a snarl. "My reign began by the loss of a love and ended with a new love. Do not tell me that I don't know how it feels!" he hissed. "My time ended because of that pipsqueak and I was tossed away and left to be ashamed of. I was given up because of him. I refuse to let that become pointless because someone's feet got too big for their boots."

The mingled look of fear and anger faded into confusion on Revolutionary!War England's face. He couldn't kick back at the pirate from the sitting position they were in since the pirate was between his legs. He tried to tug the hand away from his throat far enough for him to response without choking. "We c-can't... stay here..."

"No? What's stopping us? Those nations out there who do nothing but take pity upon us? Do you want to go back into that grumpy bastard and become nothing but hated?" The Pirate leant closer yet and whispered into Revolutionary!War England's left ear. "He despises America for what he did... The brotherly bond is severed beyond repair. None of us care for him more than you. If you stay... you could repair that bond and save him from his own greedy pride. Become a big brother again..."

The struggles ceased. A desperate look of hope flickered in the later England's eyes. A chance to repair that bond and save their relationship; to be with America like how they use to be, and to guide him once again to becoming a better nation than what he was. However, he was too closely placed to the pirate's era to know the pirate wasn't doing this for him.

"What's in it for you...?" he asked as the fingers relaxed around his throat. "You're saying all this so you can stay here and rule the world again? Regain the empire we once had?"

"No..." The Pirate shook his head and moved his hand back. "All I ask for is my freedom to sail the seven seas and break away from this pressure of being a nation. I want to be free... I ask for nothing more."

They sat there in silence. Revolutionary!War England was hesitating to reach a decision. If he went then there would be no change made and relations would forever remain tense and bitter but if he stayed and tried to encourage them to improve and reach out to his former colony like before than... maybe... just maybe... they could...

"Get out," Revolutionary!War England whispered in a broken voice. "Leave me alone."

With none of the aggression behind it like earlier, the pirate smiled in acknowledgement of his latest success. He stood up and mocked a salute towards the broken figure on the floor and walked out. A smirk formed when he was out of sight of the other. Who needed guns and swords when words worked far better at causing wounds?

He ignored the suspicious glare he was getting from his brother and walked down the aisle. America was fidgeting around in his seat, complaining about wanting to play some video games to pass the time, while France was still resting near Arthur so he could give him the potion. The stress was really showing on the Frenchman now but he was too focused on the world outside to notice the Pirate watching. The Knight was watching him with the same suspicious glance Scotland had given him. The Pirate smirked at him in a challenging manner but the younger looked away quickly.

Now... where was the youngest? He walked over to the very back of the plane where the child was curled up on a seat with tears running out of the forest green eyes. Little Arthur held an angry glare and was staring out of the window with bitter hatred.

The Pirate settled down beside him and rested back against the seat. "It's a big world out there and you look as though its turned against you. My my, what a big feeling for such a little person. Tell me, what upsets you so?"

No reply was given.

"I'm not one for guessing games but you shall be the one exception." The pirate examined his nails casually. They were unnaturally clean due to his dip in the water. "I doubt it's over something foolish like a broken arrow. Hmmm... Could it be that you're upset about going?"

The child turned his head and glared at the pirate but made no comment to disagree.

"Now why would that be?" The Pirate continued on thoughtfully. "Is it the returning part that bothers you? Or is it the leaving?" Despite not being around for most of the time, he had noticed how the child was holding onto France when they boarded the plane and how it was France that the child kept close to. He met the child's gaze. "Maybe... Maybe it's France that you'll be missing?"

Those chubby little cheeks were puffed out and Little Arthur was soon hitting his fists against the Pirate's arm. "Will not! Will not! Will not!" he screamed out as the Pirate looked in amusement. "Not him! Don't care! I don't care!" Snot was running out of the child's nose and mingling in with the tears giving the child a miserable appearance.

Anyone who knew the nation well enough could tell the signs of when he was bullshitting. Denial was one of the key signs.

The Pirate smirked darkly as he patted the child's head. This, he thought in delight, was too easy.


	17. Chapter 17

"MOVE FASTER!"

"Can't you shut down the streets?!"

"I can't close down the whole of NYC!"

"I swear if we get caught in a traffic jam..."

"The sirens are on, okay?!"

The bickering only grew tense as the two cars went racing down the streets. The latest arrival meant that they only had one left before time went against them and the damage became too great to fix. The Englands wouldn't last the experiment reversal because of the lack of immortality.

"Careful with that turn! Some of us can die now!"

"It will be quiet then, won't it?"

"What was that?!"

"Quit arguing like an old married couple and move it!"

Alfred hunched over the steering wheel and muttered under his breath. In the seat beside him was Scotland who was in a heated argument with RevolutionaryWar!England who was sitting behind. Alfred wasn't happy with having him tag along since it made him feel uneasy to see Arthur in the uniform. It wasn't guilt, not even close, but there was might be a slight possibility of regret? No. Not regret. Alfred shook his head and leant back again.

"You're the ones arguing like an old married couple," he commented loudly over them.

Both shot him a dark look and went back to gazing out of the windows. The pirate was sitting by the other window with an expression of amusement. Sitting in the middle of the two red coats was the latest comer - Victorian!England. He was wearing a fine pressed suit with a top hat and a cane that was resting on his lap.

In the car just behind them, France was attempting to keep up. He had been thankful on who he received as companions for the journey. The Knight was too busy keeping the tot under control and Arthur was still out cold.

The flashing lights from the car ahead and the waving hand that stuck out of the window, informed the Frenchman that they were close. He sighed in relief. This would soon be over and he could go back home. Come to think about it, he hadn't even told his boss that he was now in the USA. Oops.

"Frog! I no feel well... My stomach hurts."

Merdi.

-/-

They had parked by the time the child emptied the contents of his stomach. Thankfully, the Knight reacted fast and pulled the child out of the car. Now the child was crying with some remains smeared around his mouth.

Francis flinched from smell and sight but his 'big brother' side wouldn't allow him to walk away from a child in need. He took out a tissue from his pocket and dabbed the mess away before giving Little Arthur a fond embrace.

"Get moving," Scotland grunted.

Alfred led them to the house and unlocked it. He hadn't bothered to clean in a while and there was clothing and empty packets of junk food lying around. Most of the mess wasn't caused by him, though he certainly helped with it, but the tiny alien who was working on a large and odd looking machine in the middle of the main room.

"Cool looking, isn't it?" Alfred grinned at the shocked expressions. "Toni, what does it do?"

Scotland and France exchanged looks of disbelief as the alien swore loudly. Alfred, now the translator, laughed. "They all have to go inside and the process can be reversed! How easy is that?"

More like, how fortunate were they to have a reversal machine ready for them. None wanted to think of what would happen if they had to wait any longer.

"Is it ready, Toni?"

Another series of insults and swears somehow translated to a 'yes'.

"Get going then," Scotland said as he looked down at his out cold brother who the Knight placed on the sofa. "Time's a wastin."

The Revolutionary!War Arthur boldly stepped forward. "I'm not going back and you cannot make me."

Silence fell out across the room. Then, suddenly, a huge outbreak of arguments and protests erupted out into a huge blur of noise. No one could understand each other over another. The only one who said nothing was the Pirate who leant against the wall in great pleasure of what he was seeing. Unlike the others in the mist of the arguments, he did not fail to miss a tiny figure slip away.

"Can't make you?! Wanna try? I'm gonna break your worthless neck and drag your body into that damn thing!"

"Dude! You can't be serious! What the fuck, man?"

"You must go back," the Knight said firmly. "We each had our time and now we must return to guide the present England. We have to go back. Why do you insist on remaining?"

"Why do you want to?!" Revolutionary!War Arthur practically screamed back at him. "Do you really want to go back into the person who commended your holy arse to hell?! None of us ever wanted the futures we got! We finally got the chance to correct what went wrong and you want to give it up? We could do so much more out here!"

"It's already been shown how dangerous this is!" The Knight eyed the smug Pirate for a moment before looking back at the second furious red coat. "What happens if we do stay? We'll become mortal and death will lurk around the corner! We won't last more than sixty years! Is that what you want to happen to our country? Have it dissolve for such selfish needs?"

"He has a point," Scotland said as he rubbed his temples. "Get the hell into that machine."

Revolutionary!War Arthur hesitated. He glanced over at his fellow Englands for support; the Knight was looking stern, the Pirate gave him the thumbs up and an encouraging grin, and the Victorian!England was shrugging.

"I'm personally pleased to snap out of the drug addiction," he said with a small smile. "And the peace is a pleasant change from the endless wars. I'll be more than satisfied to return."

"No one is asking you to!" Scotland snapped. "We're telling you to!" He strolled over to the closest England and seized the Knight by his arm. "Get marching, tin man, we haven't got much time!"

"Wait!" Alfred called out after a quick mutter from Toni. "They have to go in order. Who came first?"

France looked around his legs. "That would be petit Angleterre," he replied, confused as to why the child wasn't clinging to his leg like he was earlier. "Angleterre! Where are you?"

One or two others began to look around. The child wasn't near any of them and nor was he climbing over any of the furniture.

Alfred carefully scanned the room for signs of the tot and then looked over at his friend Toni. "Yo, Toni! Where is he?"

"Gone."

"WHAT?!"

"Toni! Why didn't you say anything?"

Toni only shrugged and walked back to the TV. He didn't care what happened to the limey. With the bottle of coke in hand, he went back over the sofa and slouched down to finish watching the recorded Super Bowls.

The arguments returned.

"You were supposed to be watching over him!"

"Moi?! He is you! You look after him!"

"I had my hands busy with that prick!"

Alfred sweat-dropped. A room full of Englands and the people who caused the most friction with him... of course this wasn't going to end well. It was easier to ignore one pissed off England than it was to ignore many copies. There was a child missing and they were shouting at each other! Sighing, America walked off to hunt for him. Maybe he went to the bathroom?

No. He wasn't there. Alfred explored the house from top to bottom and called out for the child. Little Arthur couldn't have gotten far but Alfred wasn't keen on having him wander freely around the place because of Alfred's vast range of weaponry. Plus, Toni did often leave strange alien technology around too. Sadly, the others still hadn't thought of this for when he returned they were all still arguing.

"Did he go outside?" Alfred asked them. Britain never came across as the kind who would love to run around outside since he was always so 'stuck up' and sophisticated when Alfred was younger.

The others fell silent and then broke out towards the door. France got there first and ran out into the garden. Scotland was just behind and the rest of the Englands following. The Pirate was thoroughly enjoying the show for everywhere around him there was chaos.

"MON LAPIN?! Où es-tu?!" Francis wailed out.

"YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL SEND THE WOLVES AFTER YOU."

Yes, the Pirate was content with his work. Now for him to make his own escape. He turned to leave the scene when a hand shot out around the corner and yanked the Pirate to the side of the house. The Pirate grunted when he was thrown against the wall. He opened his mouth to shout out insults towards his attacker but was silenced by a gloved hand over his mouth.

"Don't think I haven't caught onto your little plan. I may have been fashionably late to the party but you are not a hard one to figure out."

The Pirate smirked behind the gloved hand and pushed it away. "I don't know what you mean..." he responded smugly only to fall silent when the Victorian!England drew closer. The Pirate gritted his teeth and pressed against the jagged stoned wall in attempt to put distance between them. This only made the Victorian smirk in return.

"You believe yourself to be all-powerful and unstoppable but it is I who rules a third of the world..." The Victorian!England raised his cane and placed it beneath the Pirate's chin and used it to raise his head. "You were merely the starting point. You were merely a boy who just realised there's a bigger world out there and you want it all."

The Pirate narrowed his eyes at the Victorian. He despised having his own tactics used against him and yet did not hold a strong enough argument to counter the Victorian's statement. He didn't even care to push the other back so he wasn't trapped against the wall.

"I am the real British Empire..." the Victorian finished off with a cocky smile."You're nothing but a cowardly rogue who plays pretend."

That's when the fight broke out. The punch sent the Victorian back enough to give the pirate room to tackle him down. Blood was spilt and bruises would soon appear on both. Their insults injured the most.

All to use to the violent temper tantrums of the Englishman, no one gave them a single glance. They had to find the child. That was their only focus.

He hadn't gone far. Two little eyes were peering out from over the edge of the rooftop. It was easy for the scamp to get up there and, in the darkness of the night, blended in well. He watched them run around and hunt for him.

No one had thought to look up here. He was beginning to get cold now and hungry. But he didn't want to be sent back into one form. If he did, he would lose the chance he had to make real friends. It like the Pirate told him earlier on the plane; no one would care for Arthur the way they did for the child. If he went back then he would be neglected.

The child curled up upon the tiles and closed his eyes. No. If he stayed then he would have lots of friends! Tons of friends!

Then sobbing caught his attention and he moved back to his former position and gazed down. Francis was standing directly underneath with his hands over his face. The child' stomach turned again but this time from guilt. France took good care of him. France gave him chocolate. France allowed him to play outside with his fairy friends. And now he was making France cry.

The child pouted. How could he be that mean?

"France..." he murmured as he leant over the side further. Only his hand slipped. He squealed as he was thrusted forward by gravity. Francis peered up in alarm in time to see the Little Arthur slip down. Instantly, Francis moved into position. Little Arthur landed on the stomach of the Frenchman, making Francis fall back onto the grass, before tumbling off backwards onto the grass. Francis groaned with pain. Babysitting, he concluded, was hard.

Little Arthur blinked up at the night sky before picking himself up. He prodded the whining Frenchman in the side. In a second, he was pulled into a tight embrace that made him squirm.

Francis went off into a rant in French about how concerned and panicked he had been and made the child promise not to ever do it again. Little Arthur didn't bother to struggle as he was clung to and cuddled.

"Here he is!" Francis cried out in delight, remembering his English-speaking nations. "Safe and sound!"

"Come on then," Scotland sighed as he tugged the two fighting Englands apart with America's help. "Let's get this over with."


	18. Chapter 18

A fortnight had gone since the Englands united together. It had been a difficult time for Arthur. The past versions were still adjusting to their previous places and, every now and then, one past version would show itself stronger than the others. For this reason, Arthur was moved from his comfy house in the outskirts of London and brought in to be supervised.

John, a keen guard who was hoping for a raise, had a shocking experience when he found Arthur dangling from a tree and making childish remarks to him and when he tried to get Arthur down, he had an arrow shot at him. He came close to quitting when Arthur locked himself in his room and cried for a whole day. It was truly bizarre to see, what he guessed, to be various mood swings in his nation.

The other nations called up from time to time to keep check. England's other neighbouring country, Wales, had frequently visited. He hadn't been happy about being left out but made up for that by fussing over Arthur and helping him catch up with the work that had been building up over the time lost. Right now, however, the blonde haired Frenchman was sitting on the sofa with Arthur.

Francis was showering Arthur with many copies of the photo he had taken with the child. Arthur's expression was a mix of horrified and embarrassed as they fell into his lap one by one. He wasn't sure what was worse; seeing himself as a child in an actual photo or seeing France cuddling the poor child like he was there. No, he was quite sure it was the cuddling that bothered him most.

"That is quite enough!" Arthur said as he collected up the photographs and tried to stuff them into his pockets so Francis couldn't take them back. "Even one is one too many! Why did you have so many copies done, you bloody fool?!"

"Big brother had forgotten how adorable you were!" Francis held his framed copy close to his chest. "Maybe you could turn Italie into a child too, s'il vous plaît? I can make a photo album!" His eyes shined with the idea of having all nations as children. They would be so adorable and they'll depend on him again!

"Absolutely not!"

Francis pouted and tried to bat his eyelashes at the Briton. "You could change Amérique too."

Arthur shot him a dark look. He rose from the sofa and walked over to the corner of the room where he aggressively tore up the photos and dropped them into the bin. "Do. Not. Mention. Him. To me."

For a second there, France had cringed back against a cushion in thoughts of another former England rising to the surface. But the anger was Arthur's and the grudge was still there. Forgiveness wasn't something that Arthur handed out easily and the memory of being ripped apart and almost dying meant America would be suffering for a while.

Sadly, the American hadn't taken the tip and was still trying to get back into England's good books. Every morning, he would knock on the door and called out for Arthur for two whole hours until he got hungry and went away. Today was no exception even if it was raining heavily.

"Oi, Britain, you there? It's cold out here! I'm wet!"

"How long do you plan on leaving him out there?" Francis asked as he looked over to the front window where Alfred was pressing his face against the glass. Alfred must be getting desperate if he was trying to use the 'puppy dog eyes' look. France was sucked in and wanted to open the window for him. "You know he won't quit. He got his stubbornness from you."

Arthur ignored Francis' comment and walked over to the window. Alfred's expression looked hopeful until the curtains were drawn to block him from view. "I have no clue what you mean," he said in the same stubborn tone Francis called him out on. "He's just too thick-headed to know when to quit."

"Exactly," Francis muttered under his breath. Those two had more in common then either would ever care to admit to. "Are you still mad at him?"

"I'm not... mad.." Arthur sighed and gazed down at the torn photographs. He was hurt that Alfred would even consider doing such a thing to him. He hadn't bothered to stay that day to hear any excuses and went straight home to rest. It took Alfred three phone calls to realise that he wasn't let off the hook just yet which is why he came back to England. "I'm hurt."

"How much do you remember?" Francis asked curiously. Admittedly, none of the past Englands appear to get along with America so their relationship was as frail as before.

"Very little," Arthur replied. Was that a good thing or bad? He didn't know for the last thing he did remember was lying in bed with a gunshot wound to the head. That had been the pirate's doing. He had woken up to find Scotland there and everything else was a blur. A terrible blur. It felt worst then waking up with a hangover in the morning with no memory of what happened the previous night and having to rely on everyone's stories.

A loud bang from above made them both jump What the..?

The two looked up at the ceiling in wonder. What was Alfred up to now? Was he trying to break in? Arthur had made sure to lock the windows and had seriously thought about putting bars up too. Hopefully the oaf would remember what happened the last time he broke one trying to get in. It soon became clear that Alfred was not aiming for the windows this time.

"The chimney!" Arthur groaned when a series of soot fell out of the open fireplace. "What possessed that idiot to -" He didn't finish his statement rushed over to the fireplace with Francis right behind him.

Francis was sensible enough to not look up into the pitch darkness. "He'll get stuck..." Alfred's frame would not be able to get down the narrow strip of a chimney without doing some serious damage to the brick work. Yet another excuse for England to scream at him. Really, was he the only one who thought ahead this days?

"BRRRRRIIIIIIIITAIN."

Alfred's voice sounded muffled, confirming Francis' thoughts.

The Brit's eye twitched in annoyance and he knelt down beside the fireplace to yell back up. "WHAT THE HECK CAUSED YOU TO GO DOWN THE CHIMNEY?! I'M WARNING YOU, I'LL LIT THE FIRE."

"Nu-ah!"

A second downpour of soot almost hit Arthur as it landed on the ash remains of the last fire lit. Arthur pursed his lips as if he was seriously thinking about lighting a fire. The amount of soot that fell down would quench out the flames though.

"I swear, if he gets stuck..." Arthur grumbled as he pulled back when a third shower of soot fell down. The cloud of dust was beginning to fall onto his nearby furniture and rug. Good thing Alfred was planning to stay here for a while since he had tons of cleaning to do!

Feet came into sight from the chimney. Without a word, Francis and Arthur grabbed hold of one each and tugged hard. A second later, a soot covered American slipped out of the chimney and fell onto them.

Francis groaned as he pushed himself up from the floor. Alfred had crashed down on his legs and he was certain he wouldn't be able to move without limping now. He cursed in his native tongue and gazed down at his ruined outfit. Was this going to be a growing trend? He'll stay with the English-speaking nations and each time it will come back to bite him on le derrière?

Alfred's white teeth stood out against the black when he grinned. Pleased with his break in, he pulled himself away from the other two and stood up. He didn't even take notice of the amount of mess he had caused. His smile wasn't greeted with another.

Arthur stood up and took a defence posture as he glared at his former colony. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?! Just look at this mess! You're going to be the one to clean all this! And I'll send you the bill of the dry-cleaners! This is unaccept-"

"Britain, can you shut up for two seconds?" Alfred huffed. When was Britain going to learn that none of his former colonies paid attention to his long winding lectures? Heck, none of them did to this day. "And just listen to me?"

The green eyes narrowed as Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't make comment though and allowed Alfred to make up an excuse for why he had made England suffer through all that.

"Toni didn't know what I meant! It was a communication error!"

It went over Arthur's head. The anger faded from his expression to make way for the confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"I told him I wanted to spend more time with you!" Alfred's voice was louder than what was probably intended. Francis noted that he looked rather adorable being flustered like that. "You're always too busy!"

An awkward silence filled the house.

"I.. err.. I guess that's not a bad thing..." Arthur eventually spoke up with a similar expression of fluster on his face. "But you could have just asked?"

"I did." Alfred winced when he taste soot on his lips and tried to wipe it off on the back of his hand. Sadly, it didn't work and only made things worse. He pulled a face but it went unseen by the Brit. "I called many times but you blew me off cause of work and crap."

Ah. Maybe he had been relentless on others when it came to managing his time. He had even been neglecting his time with his magical friends. Arthur sighed. He needed to get a fresh planner and carefully decide on what to do each day so he had available openings. It was just strange to know that there was others who wanted to spend time in his company.

When he came out of his deep thinking, Alfred and Francis had both wandered off. The soot trailed that led to the kitchen showed him where they went. He followed it and saw the two trying to clean some of the mess from their faces.

Arthur smiled faintly.

Maybe he wasn't so alone in the world as he thought.


End file.
